


By the Earnest Stars

by midnightprelude, oftachancer



Series: Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, DAI Parallel, Dorian POV, Ferelden (Dragon Age), Intrigue, M/M, Mages, Past Relationship(s), Qunari Herald, Red Lyrium, Redcliffe (Dragon Age), Rilienus POV, Romance, Smut, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Time Magic, Weaving Magic, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftachancer/pseuds/oftachancer
Summary: Ten years.Dorian, driven and desperate, standing under a horizon that threatens to tear the world to pieces.Rilienus, shaded in shadow, stalking among specters, consumed by dreams of vengeance.When their eyes meet, their hearts stutter, longing and loss and-Memories of sweltering evening embraces.Nightmares of blood and betrayal.War humming on the horizon, a sky as dark as night, filled with celestial emerald and earthy ruby, casting all of Ferelden in a horrifying hue.He would’ve said yes.The words echo in their minds unbidden as they stand together before the coming storm.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Rilienus, Dorian Pavus/Rilienus Maecilia
Series: Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794817
Comments: 14
Kudos: 5





	1. seize the arrow's barb

##  Rilienus

“You’re certain that you’re well?” Rilienus frowned, perching on the edge of the desk. “Your father told me that you fell over.”

“I’m fine,” Felix repeated for the second time in the last ten minutes, but he spoke as though he’d been saying it for hours, or days, or years. He had, no doubt, though it was hardly a reasonable answer for someone being corrupted from the inside. 

“He said you slept for an entire day. No one could rouse you.”

“It was a dizzy spell. That’s all.”

“That isn’t a dizzy spell. And even if it were, vertigo and the Taint aren’t the most heartening of pairings.” He touched the side of Felix’s forehead, turning him to study the shade of his cheek. “Your color appears alright, I’ll give you that.” 

“I  _ am _ alright.”

“Well.” He frowned, flexing his fingers as Felix scowled at him.  _ Something _ was amiss with Felix, of that he was certain, and had been amiss at least since Rilienus had joined them in Redcliffe. Fidgety. Isolating himself to lie down for hours at a time in the middle of the day. 

He’d done as much research as he could on the darkspawn Taint when he’d first been tasked with finding a solution to it. He wasn’t a healer, but healers had already failed the Alexius family. What Rilienus did, what he did best, was unwind knots and find the roots of things. Research, experimentation, and development. Infuriatingly, there was little to nothing available to research in this case. The Blighted Wardens, with their lust for secrecy, refused to share so much as a droplet of knowledge with anyone outside their Order, and Rilienus very much doubted they had much research to share even if they had been so inclined. Fanatics - all fanatics - had blindspots. Experimentation it was, then. Hypotheses and testing. 

Darkspawn rats were horrifying to behold. 

He turned one of the rings around his forefinger, considering. “Finish the tonic in any case.”

“I will.”

“Felix,” he sighed as he slid from the desk, resting his wrists at the base of his spine. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

A sharp look quickly dulled. 

Oh, he knew that look very well. Very well indeed. Not only amiss. Felix was  _ up to  _ something. More and more interesting. Rilienus had been late to arrive South, finishing packing up Alexius’ research and household… and, if he were forced to be honest, making every effort to avoid the trip entirely. It was one thing to delve into theory, touching upon possibilities he’d once called fiction. It was another matter to put that theory into practice and he hadn’t wanted to be there when Gereon did. Maker’s tears, he hadn’t wanted anyone to be, but that wasn’t for him to decide.

“What was she like?” Rilienus asked. 

“Who?”

“The one this whole fuss is about. The ‘Herald’.” 

“Qunari.” Felix sipped at the tonic miserably. It probably did taste terrible, but it was his most successful permutation to date. 

“Yes, I’d heard that much.” Rilienus wandered around Felix’s room. Redcliffe castle was so dreary. Cold stone walls, damp to the touch. Brown drapery and bedraggled tapestries. He picked up a bottle of wine, glanced at Felix, set it down. “I asked about  _ her _ , not her pedigree.”

“I didn’t have an opportunity to converse with her when she was here; I only ran into her when I went to find Father.”

“You were ill then as well, as I understand it,” he recalled. “Perhaps it’s an allergy. The qunari do use a variety of toxins to empower them that are less than palatable for other races-“

“Won’t my father be looking for you?”

Rilienus narrowed his eyes. A dismissal was a dismissal, no matter who it came from. “I’m certain he is, Dominus,” he inclined his head in a small bow. “I thank you for your time.” 

He’d been avoiding Gereon, too. 

Redcliffe felt… wrong. All sorts of wrong. Ever since he’d stepped from the boat in the harbor, he’d been caught in a near-constant state of nausea and headaches as though he were breathing toxic fumes. The castle itself was a little better. He’d unpacked his research materials into one of the many guest suites, removed all the tawdry tapestries of dogs, and set to work. Work was what he wanted. Peace and privacy with the intellectual tinkerings of those who had come before him. 

He passed the stair that led to his room and padded down to the throne room past the knights and mages in their silly matching costumes. So proud of their uniforms, their status, their medals and artifacts. So proud to belong to their cause. 

Burning the world down. 

Rilienus wasn’t entirely averse to the idea. The world had never been kind to him. Everything sweet he’d managed to taste, Fate had turned sour. His parents, his home, his place in the world, his heart... In the end, everything good ended in ashes and blood. Ashes and blood. And it was to ashes and blood that Rilienus had turned to recoup his losses. 

There was a gentle reprieve in villainy. 

He didn’t bother trying to trick himself into believing he was anything other than what he was. Not anymore. He owned each and every dark sliver. Some of these men and women still thought they were heroes. Worse, perhaps, they thought they were _patriots,_ all for the dream of a nation they’d never seen: an Imperium that would welcome them, honor them, lift them up as they believed they deserved. Or martyrs, he mused as he padded up the stairs to the dais where Gereon paced: martyrs sacrificing their ideals for their loved ones. 

What they truly were, Rilienus could see as plainly as the patterns that wove every aspect of the world together. What all of them, to the last, including himself, were - whether they’d begun that way or no- were villains. Greedy, grasping, and selfish, as self-interested as those they attempted to undermine; they were the products of a society that bred for those traits right alongside power and beauty. A spiral towards a death knell. And the leftovers- the lost ones that Tevinter society shunned, the ones who were too foolish to find positions or too corrupted to have one in the first place- were all here. Or in Orlais. Or Nevarra. Or in beloved, gilded Minrathous herself. Spread like weedspawn upon the wind to the far corners and thriving centers of Thedas. 

“I’ve seen Felix,” he announced by way of greeting as he alighted the top step of the throne room. The father looked as wan as the son. Gereon Alexius hadn’t taken well to villainy. Still lying to himself. Still trying to convince himself that he was doing the ‘right thing’. Lying to oneself, Rilienus had discovered, was terrible for the complexion. “I gave him a tonic and left him to rest. He seems better than you described.”

“He does?” 

Weary. Weary and worn. Wrinkled. Even his  _ voice _ was wrinkled. Pitiful. “Yes.” Talking to the old boor made him feel as though his wits were draining. “I have a good feeling about the next steps. I may have found a…” he glanced at the papers in the table beside Gereon. Maps, sentries, more rifts-  _ more _ rifts? “Expanding the territory, are we?”

“You found what?”

“A scrap of a note left behind by the so-called king of this goat-hair flocked kingdom,” he frowned. “A hint of what the Grey Wardens use to delay the Taint.”

“You are not here to delay it. You’re here to  _ eradicate _ it.”

Rilienus sniffed. “One allows time for the other.” He circled the table and lifted one of the letters. Codes. Codes and ciphers, even among themselves. So little trust. “It’s one thing to take this fortress, Magister Alexius, but to try to expand our reach beyond the village is hardly the point, is it?”

“She needs to return to us here.”

“The Herald.”

“Yes,” he hissed sourly, stalking back towards his stolen throne. “The Elder One is impatient.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Rilienus brushed his fingers over the page, copying the scrawl to the parchment in his pocket, dropping it back to the pile as Gereon turned back towards him. 

“ _ I _ am also impatient, Maecilia,” Gereon clipped. “If you are drawing this out on purpose-“

“Your confidence in my skills and machinations is overwhelming.” Rilienus lifted his brow. “Spare me your threats, Magister. You’ve seen my orders; even a convict quivers at the idea of disobeying a self-proclaimed god.” He bowed slightly, “If you have no additional requests, I will return to my work and leave you to yours.”

“Go, then.”

“Dominus,” he murmured obsequiously, deepening his bow and withdrawing. 

Vipers and pests, he thought irritably. Necessary evils. 

He was given a few days of relative peace, though the sight of the southern mages mincing down the halls like terrified mice was decidedly putting him off his meals. He’d been attempting to swallow what apparently was considered ‘stew’ in this gods-forsaken country when the sound of cloth boots running past his door drew Rilienus out of his suite. “What? What’s happened?” 

“The Herald is here.” Such glee. Such furious hatred for a complete stranger. Rilienus let the man go. The plot seemed overcomplicated to him. Why draw her to them instead of sending an assassin or two? Haven was poorly guarded, so far as he understood, and filled with new recruits and pilgrims. It would be simple to slip someone inside. Stab the woman in her sleep and have done with it. Often the simplest route was the best. Less theatrical, certainly, but drama could be had later, after the killing was done. 

Costumes and performances. 

The Elder One had a real attraction to displays over solutions. It would have spelled failure for certain, but he had a level of power, too, that Rilienus had never seen. He supposed with an untapped wellspring like that, he could afford to entertain himself with frivolities. Or he believed that he could. 

Rilienus plucked the blackened chainmail hood from its stand and wound the shadows around him along with his embroidered cloak, disappearing between the folds of space as he slipped along in the wake of giddy ne'er do wells and into the dark behind the garish throne. There was an energy among the assembled ladies and gentlemen in their clownish regalia, lining up like little figurines in a play. Rilienus leaned back against a column to watch the performance. 

“My lord Magister-“ One of the Southerners Gereon had adopted as a pet. Favoritism to keep the mages here too busy struggling for rank amongst themselves to ask too many questions about the true purpose of their presence. “The agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

Gereon roused himself from his stolen seat, spreading his arms in welcome as he strode towards them, “My friend! It’s so good to see you again. And your associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

A fascinating assortment. The armored qunari, flanked by her Nevarran knight and a slip of a girl with uneven blonde hair and an irritated grimace. So this was the infamous Herald of Andraste who had everyone in such a tizzy. Sharp eyes, sharp teeth, armored horns; she was certainly an imposing figure. Delightfully stereotypical; all height and muscle and brute force. Had the Southerners actually forgotten all the qunari had done? Perhaps the Qun’s near-endless assaults on the Imperium, the Anders, and the Free Marches were of as little concern to  _ them _ as the Blight had been to the Imperium. One's own problems often overshadowed one's neighbors’. 

But negotiations? Why? Rilienus wondered, only minding with half an ear as he observed them all. Why bother with the charade? Simply kill her and have done. The woman was outnumbered. She and the knight might well take out quite a few on their way across the Veil. The slight one, too - she doubtless had some trick or six that made her dangerous, considering her company. But so what? It wasn’t as though Gereon couldn’t afford to lose a few more hopeful grunts. There were always more. The Imperium was practically full to the brim with the disenfranchised and the outcast. 

“She knows everything, Father.”

Felix’s announcement drew Rilienus’ attention sharply to the dais. So the whelp  _ had _ been up to something, after all: informing the upstarts. Good for him. He’d chosen a side. Of course, it wouldn’t change anything. His machinations had very likely been part of what had dragged his chosen allies into the sticky situation they now found themselves in. 

“Felix, what have you done?”

The Herald smiled grimly. “We made sure to disarm your trap before we came in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’ve yet to see your cleverness, I’m afraid. You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark - a gift you don’t even understand - and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.”

“If you know so much, enlighten me. Tell me what the mark on my hand is for.”

“It belongs to your betters. You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose.”

Rilienus rolled his eyes. He’d heard enough megalomaniacal speeches in the last several years to serve him for a lifetime. So many pointless explanations to people who would soon be dead. Or opportunities to allow their bored victims to escape.

“Father, listen to yourself. Do you even know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.”

He felt his breath catch in his throat, even as he turned back. There. Gods old and new, there- Cold steel eyes beneath a furrowed brow, the curl of that particular mustache over lips he’d kissed a hundred times and- 

“Dorian,” he whispered. Couldn’t stop himself. The name rose to his lips like the perlage of an Orlesian brut. His chest ached suddenly and fiercely, lungs burning, some infernal burst of emotion rising behind his eyes. What was Dorian  _ doing _ here? Where had he been? What in Andraste’s name was he  _ wearing _ ? 

“I gave you a chance to be a part of this,” Gereon spat. “You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“What’s better than turning back time?” the qunari asked and damn Blighted Gereon if he didn’t answer like the most foolish of all men. 

“He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

The so-called Grand Enchanter looked appalled. Spoke. He couldn’t hear her over the catapulting rhythm of his own pulse in his ears. 

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen!” Furious. Disappointed. Beautiful. Maker,  _ more _ beautiful than he had been all those years before. How was that possible? “Why would you support this?”

“Stop it,” Felix snapped. “Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No. It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you.”

“Save me?” Felix scoffed. “Tonics and potions won’t save me, Father.”

“There  _ is _ a way. The Elder One promised, one way or another. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

“I’m going to die. You need to accept that.”

It was entirely the wrong thing to say. Rilienus could see that as madness and grief raged past the last vestiges of sense in Gereon’s gaze. 

“Seize them, Venatori. The Elder One demands this woman’s life.”

Sword unsheathed. Staves lifted. Mana cracked through the air, thickening it, the scent of ozone and ash. More ash. More blood. More darkness. Rilienus gritted his teeth and twisted his fingers through the threads of space, tapping arrows off course as they flew from the back of the throne room. He’d be damned if he’d watch Dorian bleed. Not again. Not today. Not for this. Chaos, copper stains, the percussion of bodies collapsing… 

Ah. Well. He eyed the silly costumes as they fell, so much piled refuse on the ground, white satin stained like tablecloths stained with wine.

The Herald grimaced as she stepped forward, her hand on the hilt of the sword at her spine. “Your men are dead, Alexius.”

Rilienus rolled his eyes at the utter idiocy of the whole exchange. Presentations and posturing. Pawns and players. Dorian- He pressed his palm to his heart to calm its furious cadence; surely they could hear it even if no one could see him. 

“You are a mistake!” Gereon seethed, dragging a familiar amulet from his robes, and Rilienus felt a terror unlike any he’d felt in years. “You should never have existed!”

“No!” Dorian shouted, flinging up a shield. 

Too late. 

Rilienus snarled as he pierced through space, trying to catch at the unraveling pattern. 

Too many, too quickly. Too much. 

The threads cut his hands like wire as they whipped, but he held to what he could like reins, spreading his mana thinner and thinner as he attempted to gather them back to him. Too late. 

No.

Time. Time was a river. It moved, it twisted and turned, it was endless, churning on itself- He dragged himself through the pattern like a spider, climbing, using the last of his mana to redirect the sharp, springing lines before-

Darkness. 


	2. with shade of bronzed obelisks (1/2)

##  Dorian

Dorian emerged with a gasp, coughing up briny, blackened water; standing, it lapped his ankles, soaking through his boots and clinging to his robes.  _ Where- _ He looked around the dungeon chamber- still in Redcliffe, by the look of the architecture. Unsurprisingly, the castle’s decor was no better in the basement than it had been in the great hall, and there were small, ominous spikes of red lyrium growing from the rear wall. 

The Herald rose slowly from the murk, adjusting her greatsword against her back and rubbing her temples. Alive. So Dorian’s shield had been enough to prevent any major damage from the amulet. 

Dorian had recognized it instantly. The device was of his own design, sketched into the grimoires he’d left with Alexius, his equations protected by a cipher. Errors deliberately placed in mathematics, just in case anyone managed to break the code. Safety measures, in case Alexius foolishly continued his research without Dorian. In case someone wished to wield the power of temporal transference for themselves. In case there was ever enough ambient magic to power the device. Apparently, the rift in the Veil took care of the last. The first two—

Someone had interfered with the amulet’s spell. He’d felt a familiar resonance in the hallway, just before the world lost its color. One he couldn’t quite place. 

And they weren’t alone in this grim, sunken place. Another figure - unmoving, shrouded with an elegantly woven lattice of chain mail - had been transported with them. Dorian lashed them to the wall with a gentle push of force, freezing the water around them to hold them in place.

Neshaata Adaar unsheathed her dagger. Dorian could see the stranger’s hands were heavily lacerated, dripping with blood. A sodden, asymmetric cloak hung limply from their shoulder and an intricate robe was tightly wrapped around their body.

His. His body. The water seeped from the cloth and the fine mesh molded itself to his long, narrow form. The mage hung against the wall like a drowned cat, water sputtering out through the blackened chainmail. 

Neshaata growled, dragging the chain up to shove the point of her dagger to a tan neck. “Where are we? What happened?”

He coughed, lifting his head, “Let-“ he croaked, hoarse. “Let go.”

“You don’t talk until I-“ She hissed as the chainmail flared bright orange, balking and tearing her red hot gauntlet off to let it fall into the water. 

Steam rose from the spot as the ice around the mage melted away and he dropped to his feet, sagging back against the wall. His head fell back to the stone wall with a weary clink as the glyphs in his armor and hood gentled back to black. 

“I believe, dear Herald, that this fellow had a hand in moving us—“ Dorian looked around the desolate room. “Wherever and possibly  _ whenever _ , we’ve found ourselves. Whether for good or ill, I’m not yet sure I can say.”

A loud clanking came from the hallway beyond the cell they’d landed in and two armed guards rushed in through a gap in the wall. 

“Intruders,” the first shouted. “We’ll bring their heads to Master Alexius.”

“Care to offer your assistance once again?” Dorian raised an eyebrow and turned to the masked man. “Or did you enjoy being pressed up against the wall?”

The stranger eased to his feet, drawing a pair of short staves from his back; he lined them up like he was bracing a bow and whistled sharply, building a bright line between them, then spun the latter of his weapons so that the line split into six long blinding bars that released like arrows to crisscross the open door behind the soldiers, blocking them inside. “I’m done.” He dropped like a lead weight onto a tipped barrel. His voice was rusty, barely more than a whisper, and so strangely familiar-

Neshaata charged.

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,” Dorian cursed, quickly forgetting the strange sense that he’d felt that particular pull of magic before, knew that voice- He cast a barrier around the Herald, his shield sparking around her armor and weapon like a diamond. She engaged the first man who’d passed through the door, while Dorian drew the second into the puddle on the floor. Dorian raised his arms, levitating from the ground as he let off a peal of lightning, causing the guard to spasm in his armor, smoke pluming out of his visor as he crashed into the water with a splash. 

Neshaata had made quick work of the first and was already cleaning her blade of the Venatori soldier’s blood. She rounded on the unknown mage, blade still drawn but Dorian grabbed her arm and locked him in a cage of lightning.

“Answers, now, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dorian said, crossing the room towards him. “You interfered with the amulet. I could sense your flavor of mana in the hall when you did, and you confirmed my suspicion just now. Why? Who  _ are _ you?”

The man folded in half, peeling the chainmail hood free. Rivulets of kohl streaked down his cheeks into a short beard. Eyes that caught the dim light like shards of emerald. He rubbed one of them with the back of his hand, his palms raw and scored. “Deviant. I’m a deviant.” He squinted through the lightning bars. “Do you happen to have any lyrium on you? I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting to fight an artifact today.”

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat, his chest aching as though his heart had stopped beating entirely. “You’re alive,” he intoned, his voice growing wan. He let the cage dissipate. “I—“ Dorian couldn’t tear his eyes from him, even as he fumbled through a hidden pocket for a vial of thick, blue liquid. 

The same bright green eyes that had enraptured him the moment he’d come across them, as he slunk out of the Praeceptor’s office, all those years before. He’d spent so many nights staring into their depths, hoping, wishing, planning for a future they’d never get to see. He’d spent even more lying alone, remembering the way they’d looked the last time he’d seen them. The defeat when he’d stepped into the shadows and out of Dorian’s life. Wondering if he should have—

“Rilienus,” Dorian murmured, unable to pull his eyes away; the words he’d planned if he’d ever managed to find him again flitted away like sand through an hourglass. His voice was hollow. “Neshaata, this is Rilienus Maecilia. We knew each other, once. A long time ago.”

“Dorian.” She said his name like a question, still gripping her sword. 

“I could assume my previous position at the wall,” Rilienus offered with a wry, exhausted smile. “I believe you were going to slit my throat. Gauche means of introduction, but what can one really expect from southerners.”

Joking. All this time and he was bloody  _ joking _ , when Dorian wanted to fall to his knees and beg his forgiveness, to sob, to plead if he thought it would make a difference. Dorian raised his head as his jaw tightened, mingled anger and frustration and sorrow rising in his chest. “I didn’t know you were still alive.”

“You hoped that I wasn’t - very different - but you’re in a wealth of company.” He snapped his fingers and called the bottle of lyrium to his palm, sipping with a grimace. He shivered as the potion worked through him, rising and tossing the bottle back in Dorian’s direction. “Self-preservation, then. I’d like away from the red rocks if you don’t mind. They’re a terrible migraine in the making.”

“Rilienus, please—“

He lifted his chin, gathering his cloak in his hands and humming low. The cloth softened, drying and billowed out from him as he strode past them, looking around. “I apologize for my aim. I was trying to land us in the courtyard, but I appear to have gone down rather than sideways. The closest confluence of arcane energy, perhaps.” 

“ _ Rilienus _ ,” Dorian repeated, louder, insistently. “I had people searching for traces of you, after you got out of the Order, and again after your uncle died, but every time they’d returned, they’d nothing to report, or any faint trails they’d managed to pick up vanished like mist. I thought you were  _ dead _ .”

“So you’ve said.”

“But I never wished for it.”

Rilienus glanced over his shoulder, tucking his hood into his belt. “We’ll agree to disagree on that point.”

He felt his chest tighten, his heart sinking like a stone into his boots. Such a chill in his voice. An awful, piercing wind. Dorian shook his head and followed him weakly, nodding at Neshaata, trying to ignore vertigo. “Why are you here? I never thought to see you south of Perivantium.”

“Perils of freedom. One will do almost anything to keep it.” Rilienus frowned, sloshing ahead and keeping as wide a berth from the red lyrium as he could manage. “ _ Kaffas _ , there’s more of the stuff out here. What are you up to, Gereon?”

“Temporal manipulation, evidently. You didn’t just move us through space; you managed to keep us from being completely unmoored in time. Thank you for that.” Dorian smoothed his mustache with a hand. “The questions are—how  _ far  _ did the amulet take us and in which direction…”

“So we’re still in the castle?” Neshaata asked. “And those guards we just killed- they were that cult Felix was talking about - the Venatori.”

“Spare us the exposition, Herald,” Rilienus sighed. “We all have eyes.”

“There's no need to take your animus out on her,” Dorian mumbled, frowning. “You were there, weren’t you, hiding in the shadows near Alexius. Gods-“ he felt a sharp shard of fury bury itself deep in his gut. “It was  _ you _ .  _ You _ finished my amulet, didn’t you? The code. It was in Orlesian verse.”

“To call that a code is to insult all ciphers. But yes, I deciphered it. Your mentor was most pleased.” He tongued his teeth. “Your math was ridiculous.”

“Why do you think that  _ was _ ?” Dorian clenched his teeth, his grip on his staff tightening. “I can’t believe that you would be fool enough to actually  _ join  _ with them. What did they give you? A nice new cloak and a pat on the back? You always were fond of worthless trinkets. Badges and honors from bullies. I thought you’d changed, but apparently not.”

“Changed into a  _ corpse,  _ yes, I’m aware of what you thought. A corpse is so much more malleable to your art.”

“A corpse,” Dorian repeated, standing motionless in the hall. “You look rather lively to me.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” he purred, then paused mid-step. He drew one of his staves and nudged at a fallen stone at a crossroads in the winding stair. “Right or left?” He looked up, brows lifting, focusing on Adaar. “You’re the one everyone turns to for the Maker’s guidance, yes?”

“I’m the one they call ‘the Herald’, yeah. Haven’t heard much guidance yet.” 

“Well, ‘herald’ us a path out of this place, will you? Chop, chop. This leather was not meant to be submerged for long periods of time.”

“You’re working for Alexius? You made Dorian’s amulet toss us…” she gestured around the castle. “Wherever-“

“And whenever,” Dorian added.

“And  _ whenever _ the fuck we are?”

“Yes, yes. You’re welcome. I held the Blighted fabric together for as long as I could. Apologies that I was less than prepared for the fool to go  _ using _ the bloody monstrosity.” Rilienus wrinkled his nose. “And I do not work  _ for _ him. I work for myself. It so happens, at the moment, that means playing with idiots.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow, letting his gaze sweep over him. A ghost from his past brought back to life. “And by that, do you mean them or us?”

“I do not need any more trinkets from you, worthless or otherwise. Thanks.” 

“ _ Trinkets _ ,” Dorian spat, bile on his tongue. Knives cutting him to his core. The golden chain he’d kept around his neck with the single band felt like scalding iron. “I didn’t know they meant so little to you.”

“More to me than you.” 

“You think-“ Dorian gazed at the marble tile below his feet. “You’re alive. You’re well. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for.”

“Stop with the act. I’m sick to death of performances,” Rilienus snapped.

“You’re accusing  _ me _ of-“ Dorian broke off, flexing his fingers on his staff. “Alright. I deserve it. I deserve your vitriol. I deserve your hatred. I’ll take it gladly, would’ve taken it, just to know you were still breathing.”

“To know I was-“ Rilienus shook, cold laughter spilling from him. “Spare me. You knew exactly where I was for  _ years _ . Years, Dorian. If you’d had so much fucking  _ concern _ , you could have eased your mind at any time.”

“And do  _ what _ , precisely? Incriminate you by association? They thought I murdered a man. They’d have-“ Dorian closed his eyes, biting his lip. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why you’re here, but arguing over the past isn’t going to end this nightmare.”

An exhale of frustration, the sound of snapping teeth. Familiar across a chasm. “No. It won’t. Left then, if no one else has a suggestion.” Rilienus’ boots snapped, wet, against the stone as he stalked off. 

“Dorian-“ Neshaata cleared her throat quietly. “If he’s one of them- Why did he help us?”

“He’s an old friend. Evidently, he wanted to be present for my demise.” Dorian watched him go, tracing his silhouette in the light of the sconces. “I’m afraid we’ll need to disappoint him.”

“Are you coming along, or do I have to do everything myself?” Rilienus’ voice drifted back down the stairs to them.

“Can we leave him here?” Neshaata grumbled. 

“I’d prefer to not if it’s all the same to you. I owe him my life.” Dorian began the ascent, exhaling deeply. “We haven’t spoken in eleven years. It doesn’t seem like he wants that to change.”

“If you say so.” She was silent for the uneven climb, stones crumbling beneath their feet. At the top of the stairs, her frown deepened. “Footsteps from the left. We should take them out quickly, before more follow.”

A crack of ozone and a sharp whistle and Rilienus stepped sideways into the shadows and disappeared. 

Neshaata blinked. “Or… do whatever that was.” She looked at Dorian, “You don’t think he’s going to warn the-“ A roll of thunder down the hall, a flash of light. “So. Old friends, am I right? I once had one who tried to cut my head off for winning at cards.”

“Something of the sort,” Dorian sighed, looking after him. “I don’t imagine he’ll do many beheadings. Doesn’t particularly enjoy blood on his robes if he can help it.”

“That was then.” She squinted as they listened to armor clattering against the stone. “Eleven years, you said? A lot can change in that time. Shit, look at me. A lot can change in a few months.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t let him have all the fun then, should we? Not exactly fair.” Dorian lifted his staff and raced after the light, his boots clicking against the stone floor. “I do so enjoy sending my wayward countrymen back to the Void.”

“Sure, but- can’t we let them beat up your not-friend a little? I liked him better when he was quiet and exhausted.”

“I’d rather speak to him while he’s alive, as opposed to reanimating his corpse to yell at him some more. If you don’t mind.”

“Always so particular,” she smiled, kissing her shield. “Looks like it’s me and Brainsmasher back to work again.” 

“ _ That’s _ the name you came up with? Really?” Dorian exhaled, sending a flash of lightning at one of the Venatori at the end of the hallway. It arced and hit another three nearby combatants, stunning them. 

“What? You don’t like it?” She beat her shield with the hilt of her sword. “Hey, assholes! My grandpa killed your grandpa! Come get me!”

“Fucking,  _ shields _ , Neshaata!” Dorian cast another barrier around her. “You’re the only one who matters! If you die, all of this is for naught!”

“I can’t die!” she laughed, running full tilt down the hallway. “Too much to do!” She ducked behind her shield, mowing down the soldiers and mages in her way as thunder cracked and the air sizzled around them again. She skidded to a halt, ducking beneath a sword and shoving her own right up between the soldier’s legs. He screamed and then his scream was swallowed by another low roll of thunder. 

“Ril, I’m pretty sure you’ve alerted all of Ferelden to our presence by now. Could you, by chance, be a little  _ quieter _ with your casting?” Dorian sent another bolt of lightning towards a group of heavily armed men, guarding a slender mage in one of the Blighted Venatori costumes, sending them scattering.

The mage spun through the air away from his guards, whisking past Dorian. The darkness cracked open like a pocket and an arm reached out, whacking the mage on the side of the head with a short staff, then slipped back into nothing again with another crack of thunder. Louder. Was it  _ louder _ now?

“Peevish little shit,” Dorian muttered. He began to draw wisps from the Fade, twisting them into a cloud of black fog around his feet. He lifted off the ground and flexed his fingers towards the group of soldiers, enveloping them in the thick mist. The room quickly filled with the sound of their screams, before becoming overshadowed by another wave of thunder. 

“That’s it, boys, come to me, come to me!” Neshaata was crowing, kicking, and slicing her way back down the hall towards him. She smashed one of the men against the wall with her shield, ducking under a rush of ice from the remaining caster. “Fuck, cold! Barri-“

The dark opened around the caster and Ril stepped out with silver threads between his fingers. He tightened them and the man in front of him stiffened, shaking as though he’d been shocked. Ril nudged him over with his boot. “There you-“ he gagged as Neshaata shoved her sword into the man’s gut. “Ugh, why.” He snapped his cloak out of her way, making a face. 

“I told you,” Dorian said, a touch too cheerfully to sound real, even to his own ears. “Doesn’t like blood on his clothing.”

“So messy.” Ril sniffed, looking up and down the hall. “Well. That was exhausting.”

“It would’ve been easier to just let the amulet fulfill its purpose,” Dorian said, moving to his side. “Why risk yourself for something you don’t believe in?”

Rilienus looked at him, just  _ looked _ with such an expression of… what? Disappointment? Sorrow? Something in the furrow of his brows- “Mind your own business.”

“Rilienus, please,” Dorian’s eyes began to burn, his voice wavering. “I need to know.”

He looked down, twisting his rings one by one. “You know what it-“ he tightened his jaw. “Sacrilege to the Maker’s creations. Perhaps I’m an Andrastian at heart, after all.“

Dorian’s eyes widened at the phrase, his chin falling so his eyes could stare at the ground. Anywhere but him. He could keep going if he didn’t meet his eyes. “I had hoped you’d come find me, one day, despite everything. I wanted to-“ he choked on the words, coughing until he pulled his waterskin from his satchel and took a long swig. “I’m sorry, Ril. It doesn’t change anything, doesn’t-“ Dorian pulled a simple, unadorned golden band on a thin chain from under his leather armor, holding it before Rilienus like an offering. “Trinkets. They weren’t meaningless to me, either.”

Rilienus’ jaw tightened, his fingers leaving a smear of blood on the plain gold band, “Dorian-“ 

“This isn’t how I imagined a reunion with you would go. On a multitude of levels.”

“Agreed.” He dropped his hand and his gaze, lips pressed in a thin line. 

“Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity for a more appealing locale should we manage to escape. One with fewer humming rocks.” Dorian tucked the ring back under his robes. “If you wish it.”

“The  _ locale _ was never my concern.” He sucked his teeth. “I didn’t-“

“Seriously, guys, I just stabbed about ten very naughty people. No one’s even giving me a pat on the back?” Neshaata finished sheathing her sword and crossed her arms. “You know what. You suck. Both of you. Cullen would have at least given me a solid nod of approval.”

“Yes, and I’m sure Cullen would be excellent at reversing the effect of the temporal artifact I designed and Rilienus made-“

“I didn’t  _ make _ it; I’m not an artificer. I clarified its mechanics.” Rilienus tucked his hands behind his back. “And I saved your pathetic lives. So.” He sidestepped a pool of blood with a grimace. "Let's dispense with the awarding of congratulations and find a way out of this, hm? The sooner the better."


	3. with shade of bronzed obelisks (2/2)

##  Dorian

They’d lapsed into a strange kind of silence, padding through the damp dungeons. It was unsettling, really, just how deep and varied the cell blocks seemed to stretch- especially when they walked across the metal grates over apparently endless chasms. Chutes to the Deep Roads, perhaps? Why would any castle leave such vast openings beneath its foundations? The grates could be lifted to allow access to various doorways. Was it meant to staunch uprisings from the cells? Had the castle ever been under siege from within its own dungeon or was it the work of a paranoid madman? 

Which brought up the point - had it always been like this, or was this Alexius’ work? 

“You hear that? Like… singing?” Neshaata asked, frowning down a set of stairs.

“The whole place is singing, terrible harmonics,” Rilienus griped. “Nauseating, really.”

“It’s the lyrium,” Dorian said, following Rilienus. “Particularly nasty for mages, but even those without a link to the Fade can become affected, according to Varric’s tales. Don’t touch it, if it can be at all avoided. I wonder—this must be the future, yes? How far do you think we traveled? I hypothesized that the greater the fold needed in the Veil, the greater the expenditure, but there’s so little we know about temporal structure, it’s really—“

Neshaata rattled down the stairs and kicked a door open. The eerie lilting Chant wafted out of a red-hazed prison cell beyond her. She pointed. “Singing.” She waved her hand at the figure behind the bars. The cell was crawling with thicker spears of red-lyrium, clustered and shimmering. The man inside hugged himself, shaking and sweating, swaying slightly as he sang: “My sins, my sins, my sins…” 

“Hey! Saviors R Us here.” She glanced back at Dorian, “Can we snap him out of it or something?” 

“I don’t believe so,” Dorian turned towards Rilienus, questioning. “A merciful death. Unless you’re aware of something else?”

“For red lyrium? It makes them all mad.” He hovered as far from the bars as he could manage, wrapping his cloak around himself. “Out. I’d like out and away. Maker’s breath,  _ don’t touch it _ ,” his voice grew strident. “Did you not hear your disciple?” 

Neshaata glanced back, drawing her hand back. “Thought I could break it.”

“ _ Don’t _ . Don’t break it. Don’t breathe it. Don’t look at it. It’s a virus. Old gods and new.” Rilienus huffed as she wandered off towards another doorway. “I’m certain the way out is up.”

“Why were there so many guards down before?” she asked. “This guy’s not going anywhere and he’s the first living soul we’ve seen.”

“You call this living?” Rilienus shivered. 

“There must be someone or something we’ve yet to find. A while longer yet, Rilienus?” Dorian looked at him, at the lines of his cloak. Pale silver and white threads crossing the length, like a furled wing. “ _ Philomela mea _ ,” Dorian murmured absently.

He heard Rilienus’ breath catch this time. Saw his hands flinch on his cloak. “Don’t,” he whispered as Neshaata trudged ahead. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Dorian asked, his voice a low crackle. “I didn’t say it to wound.”

“You meant it once,” he frowned, looking away. “Let me have that, at least.”

“I—Rilienus, if we die here—“ Dorian’s eyes burned. “I don’t want it to be—  _ Fasta vass _ , will you look me in the face?”

Rilienus exhaled a low, torn sound, dragging his gaze up. Tired. Tired and red-tinged. Sorrow? Or simply the reflection of the lyrium? “What,” he asked, nostrils flaring. 

“I never stopped hoping I would see you again. I planned a thousand different things I wanted to tell you, night after night.” Dorian grimaced, holding his gaze steady. “And now you’re  _ here _ and I can’t seem to figure out what to say.”

“You said what you meant.” His eyes darted as though he were searching for something else - anything else - to focus on. “I tried to warn you who I was. Perhaps I should have tried harder. Perhaps I shouldn’t have-“ He stroked a hand over his beard. “A few weeks. That was all it was. You’ve had that life I hoped that you would have and that’s what matters.”

“Did I? Did I have the life you wanted for me? Was that what I had?” Dorian closed his eyes, trying to drive out the sensation of a knife stabbing him in the pit of his stomach by sheer will. “Did you have the one I hoped you’d have?”

Rilienus scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “There’s no need to be cruel.”

“I’m not- I’m not  _ trying _ to be cruel.” Dorian exhaled a shaky breath. “I never thought you’d hate me. I feared it, but I never allowed myself to believe it would-“

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered. “I tried. I thought it would be easier. Add it to the list of my failures.”

“ _ I _ failed  _ you _ ,” Dorian murmured, “I thought leaving would give you a chance. That it was the best thing for us.”

“Dorian, I swear-“ He hissed, tearing his gaze away to stare off down the stairs. “It doesn’t matter what you thought or told yourself or- You made your choice.”

“My choice?” Dorian shivered in the darkness. “What choice did I make? What choice did I  _ have _ ?”

Rilienus sneered, grabbing his wrist. “You saying that you left me to  _ save _ me is one of the most ridiculous- You knew better. My  _ only _ freedom was-“ He let go as if scalded. “I don’t need excuses. I don’t want them. If you want to lie to yourself, that’s fine, but don’t lie to me. Reality isn’t kind, but it is reliable.”

“And this is reality, Rilienus?” He swept his hands wide. “This madness and mass cruelty and destruction?”

“It’s true.”

The words were like barbed arrows. “You were never cruel.”

“Wasn’t I? You didn’t know me very long.”

“I knew you,” Dorian stared at the hard angle of his face in the dark. “We knew each other.”

“A long time ago.”

“Why. Why do you have to make this harder than it already is? Do you  _ enjoy _ hurting me?”

Rilienus bared his teeth. “You always have to be the hero, Dorian. You always have to save the wounded birds. ‘I gave up my happiness and ran away to be wealthy and privileged somewhere that wasn’t a prison- all for you,  _ philomela mea _ .’” Lips he’d loved and kissed and longed for curled into a snarl. “‘All my pretty, pretty lies, they gild me like a sunrise; see how I sparkle with my qunari Herald and my self-righteousness.’ You left because you were scared. You were scared and horrified and disgusted, and it was easier to run away than deal with what was. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Rilienus wanted to see him run again, he realized. He was trying to drive him back and away with cuts and slashes as surely as any duel and- Why? To prove himself right? When they were finally able to see each other again? “I  _ was _ scared. I was scared for myself. I was scared for what would happen to you if the Order-”

“Well, I  _ wasn’t _ . I wasn’t afraid. I would have eaten marrow and swallowed the moon for you.” Green pools, floating red lilies. “I loved you. I loved you when I called his blood. I loved you when you finally breathed again. I loved you long after you left me to rot.”

“I wasn’t disgusted by you.”

“You were. You’re very expressive.” It was the smirk he knew so well, but cold. “You still are.”

“You want to know what I am? I’m furious,” he snapped. “That you would sink to become like the filth that you hated. That you would choose to  _ join- _ “

“You don’t know anything about me or what I’ve chosen.”

“I know we’re here because of you.”

Rilienus narrowed his eyes. “And because of you. If you and Felix hadn’t pushed that idiot over the edge, he wouldn’t have dared to actually use that malignant amulet and we would not be trapped in a future riddled with singing stones.”

“I tried to stop him from using it,” Dorian hissed. “If you hadn’t-“

“It wouldn’t have been there to begin with - for me to decipher or for him to build - if you hadn’t gone ahead and figured out the blasted underpinnings of the universe-“ Rilienus leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Only you. Gods, of course, it would have had to have been, wouldn’t it? You and your ego. You always had to know everything, do everything, be everything. More, endlessly. You just had to flaunt your power-”

“So it’s my fault, is that it? Everything that’s ever happened to you. Everything that’s happening now. All of it is-“ 

“I had to know if you’d done it,” Rilienus said, shaking his head. “I had to see it for myself. What we’d talked about. Folding time like space. I had to  _ see _ it. I knew Gereon was unstable, but I never imagined he’d use it as a blunt instrument. Like a weapon. Not-“ He looked down at his hands. “I know you had to see your theory through. I know it. The miracle of it. I shouldn’t have-” 

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have worked for them-”

“ _ With  _ them-”

“Now who’s lying to themselves?” Dorian snapped, pushing him back to the damp, blackened wall. “Do you really think it makes any damned difference how you bend your words when you’re  _ helping  _ the  _ Venatori- _ ”

“I know what I am,” Rilienus lifted his chin. Pride in every angle. Emeralds on fire. “And I know what you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m a villain, as I always have been. And you- you are a reluctant, self-flagellating hero destined for gold-paved cities.”

“Fuck you.”

“You always were good at that.” A slow, dripping smirk. “Is that what you’d like? A reminder of things past?”

“A discovery of what remains,” he rasped. Hateful. He was hateful and sharp and at the same time, he was still Ril. His Ril, always wrapped in layers of cloth and secrets. “A manifestation of ten years of longing. I want you. I’ve wanted you.”

“Of course you do. You’ve  _ seen _ me. I’m delectable.” Rilienus leaned forward, wrists caught to the wall in Dorian’s grip, and nudged his nose against Dorian’s cheek. “And you still smell of cardamom.”

“Rilienus,” he murmured, leaning against him, closing his eyes. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“And now you have. What will you do about it, I wonder.” 

Dorian shook his head, his lips curling into a smile as he took in the sight of him. That damned, Void-sent smirk, exactly the same as he’d remembered it. Just as infuriating. Just as intoxicating. He felt powerless: unable and unwilling to resist its tug. And why would he want to? His ghost was walking among the living again, here, breathing, wanting him still. 

“I’ll die if you don’t kiss me,” that shade of love past whispered to him to the drip of distant leasing damp. “I assume. It feels that way.”

Dorian nearly closed the distance completely; his lips were so close he could feel the sparkling of his mana. “We can’t have that, can we? We’re not going to die in fucking Ferelden.”

“If we have to die in Ferelden, I’d prefer to die fucking,” Rilienus stared at him, hungry shadows in the forests of his eyes. “If we’re sharing preferences.”

“Damn it, you’re a beautiful menace.”

“I am but a pale shadow of your starlight and moon glow and sunrise.”

“I rather thought you’d have kissed me by now if I’m being perfectly-“

A soft flick of wet and warm against his lower lip, then Rilienus breathed low. “You are.” He still tasted of the lyrium he’d drunk earlier, and wine, and anise, and sweet, slick  _ him _ . Like a forgotten melody- the way his lips shifted, the way his tongue twined-

Dorian groaned, letting go of his wrists to feel him through the cloth of his robes. Arms and shoulders, chest and back and sides- Foreign and familiar- He couldn’t stop, as though nothing could be close enough until they were melded together. 

Rilienus’ palm curled against the back of Dorian’s shoulder, the tips of silver claws tapping his skin as Rilienus pulled him tight. 

“I love you,” Dorian murmured against his lips. “Come home with me. Through time and through fire and lyrium-addled sycophants. Come home with me and kiss me until I’ve forgotten the last ten years and the first twenty and all I remember is you. Come home with me and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever leave your side again if what you want is for me to stay.”

Rilienus met his gaze. So close. So close that even in the shuddering dim, he could trace the edges of that perfect sanguine blossom amidst the moss of his eyes. “Dorian. Just shut up and kiss me.”

He clutched at the fabric of Rilienus’ robes, made by his own careful hands, the seams even more delicate and enchantments more powerful than when they’d- Dorian almost kicked himself for not recognizing him immediately, but how could he have known? How would he have  _ expected _ ? How could he have forgotten the pull of his mana when he cast, the sound of his whispers? 

He drew Rilienus closer, cupping the back of his head and protecting him from the unforgiving stone, and lost himself to the memory made flesh, kissing him like they’d done hundreds, thousands of times before- between stone walls, in the darkness, stealing moments of joy from a great mire of despair. Taking them like thieves in the night and feasting upon them in their moments alone. Moments alone. How many times had he visited them in dreams? They had dulled over time, the details becoming foggy, now cast into sharp contrast. Sea salt and squid ink, old books, and elfroot.  _ Cardamom _ ; he tasted of cardamom and anise, like a devotional, a ritual, a way, perhaps, to keep Dorian with him when he was so far away.

Dorian’s fingers trailed downward, running along the length of his chest, feeling the planes of his muscles through his robes. “I want you,” he whispered, looking up, opening his eyes into that sea of green. “I want you. Rilienus, I need you.”

“Yes-“ He could feel the unsteadiness of Rilienus’ breath beneath his fingers, and against his lips, as he kissed him, moaning softly, deeper. “Dorian- I want you- I never stopped-“ 

“Nor I.” Dorian nuzzled Rilienus’ nose with his own. “Not for a moment.”

“I want you,” he caught Dorian’s lip between his teeth, tugging. “I want- Maker’s breath, I want you- have wanted you-“ His hands- Long, dexterous fingers, strong where they gripped him- 

The sound of metal clanking against stone below.

Rilienus rolled his hips against him. “Endlessly,” he was whispering. “I’ve wanted you-“

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,” he spat, pulling away, tugging Rilienus from the wall. “Someone’s  _ coming _ .”

“Not yet.”

“My staff, what the Void—“ He held out a hand and the wooden staff soared through the air. He didn’t remember setting it down, didn’t remember… “She’s gone,  _ fasta vass _ , how long has she been—she could’ve been killed or captured or— _ fuck _ !”

“The qunari?” Rilienus squinted at him. “I imagine she would have made a noise. She yells quite often. This: based on limited exposure.”

Dorian huffed, taking his hand. “We need to find her, there’s no telling how many of them there are; she could’ve been overwhelmed, caught, Maker only-“

Rilienus opened his mouth to answer, then stopped as the clatter rounded a corner below and a trio of figures emerged from the dark. 

“Here you are,” Neshaata huffed, climbing the stairs towards them. “See that?” she added over her shoulder. “I told you! Now- you explain the magic gumbo, Dorian.”

“What- is that-“ An eerie echoing version of Cassandra stalked up behind her, gazing at him with as close a look of fondness as he’d ever seen on the Seeker’s face. “You’re alive,” she gasped. “You’re both alive. Truly! So it is not a trick of the Fade, after all!”

Rilienus took two steps back, reaching for his staves. 

“Not so fast-“ Sera scowled, leveling her bow at him. “Mitts in the open.”

“ _ Infected _ ,” he hissed.

“Watch who you’re calling names, you- you-“ Sera scrunched up her face in fury. “Thing. Magic and demons and-“

“And they’ve kept the poor thing in plaidweave,” Rilienus whispered, horrified. “What a tragedy.” 

“Oy!” She frowned down the line of her arrow. “No more freakin’ mages. No more freakin’ magic.”

“Charming.”

Neshaata cleared her throat. “Right. So: what it sounds like to me? You said time magic,” She looked to Dorian. “ _ They’re _ saying we blew up in Redcliffe. My guess: we bumped ahead a year. Cassandra was keeping a calendar on her wall in her cell,” she added. “Is that possible? That we just…?”

Rilienus slowly let his hands fall free from his cloak as Sera began to lower her bow. 

“Yes,” Dorian said, eyeing them both. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus, to shift us through time. I believe, by his monologue, that his intention was to remove our lovely Herald from time altogether. If she never  _ existed _ , she couldn’t  _ possibly _ interfere with his Elder One’s ritual at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Dorian tilted his head towards Rilienus. “I could only get off a barrier before Alexius cast his spell. This one here held the strands of time together on our behalf for long enough that we weren’t destroyed completely. Just… transferred. To the closest confluence of arcane energy, was it? Which happened to be in the Redcliffe dungeons.” 

“Wouldn’t have been my first choice,” Rilienus muttered. “Alexius did all this in a year?” he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “The man desperately needs a designated decorator.”

Dorian looked between the three women in the corridor. “But you’re  _ alive _ . Even if the--” They were glowing, plumes of red energy crackling from their skin. “Even if the circumstances are less than ideal. I believe, if Alexius is still alive, we might have a chance. We can go back. Undo this mess. Prevent all of what happened from happening.” He met the Seeker’s eyes, frowning. “What  _ did  _ happen?”

“Go back in time-“ Cassandra took a step closer. “Alexius’ master. After the Herald died-“

“Not dead. Still right here,” Neshaata interjected.

“We had no means to stop the Elder One from rising,” Cassandra continued. “Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterward- it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. Nothing.”

“Everything’s gone. Or red,” Sera hugged her bow to her. “I want them to pay. All of them.”

Neshaata studied Sera for a beat, frowning. “They will.” She looked to Dorian. “Won’t they? We can flip this around.”

“Possibly.  _ Possibly _ ,” Dorian raised an eyebrow, thumbing his chin. “ _ If  _ the amulet still exists.  _ If  _ we can get to it without running into this Elder One.  _ If  _ Rilienus and I can manage to reverse the spell without access to any equipment, reagents, or--very likely--time.  _ Then _ it’s possible. Yes. We need to find Alexius. And anyone else who might know more about what’s happened.”

“More mages,” Sera grumbled. “Where’d this one come from?”

Cassandra’s gaze sharpened on Rilienus, raking in details in one swift glance. “Sera makes a relevant point.”

“Let’s focus on getting out of here, okay?” The Herald patted her on the shoulder, gauntlet meeting plate with a clank. “We’ll sort the rest of it out after we save the world.”

“Point of Order, were they just sitting in cells in their armor with their weapons?” Rilienus looked utterly bewildered. “Maker’s tears, the man truly has lost his senses.”

“Yes, yes, and we’re all very grateful for that, are we not?” Dorian turned to him, frowning. “Please don’t tell me you intend to give the Venatori pointed suggestions on our way to find my former mentor.”

“Me? Why would I? Maybe after the mighty Herald of Andraste skewers them. Praise Her Name. By Her Light.” He was nervous, ticking looks at Cassandra and her shield when he thought he could get away with it. “Let’s… save the world, was it? Let’s do that.”

“Just tell them, Ril,” Dorian mumbled. “You’re as twitchy as a rabbit force-fed embrium.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Tell us what? That he is of the Venatori? Why state the obvious?”

“See-“ Rilienus shook his finger. “I would like you if you weren’t already thinking of ways to murder me.”

Cassandra flexed her fingers at her sword. “I trust Dorian. If he thinks that you will help us undo this, then I believe that you will. And if not, I have several methods selected.”

“You Blighted turdblossom!” 

Rilienus twitched his fingers and set the arrow that had spun towards his chest flinging off towards the wall. “Yes, yes. I know. Terrible. I’m being reformed. Less about me, more about our plight, alright?”

“Sera can scout ahead,” Dorian said, nodding towards her. “You’re not leaving my sight. No vanishing, unless we’re attacked, if you don’t mind. Consider it part of your reformation.”

“To those who believe in the Maker, fire is their water,” Rilienus quoted stiffly. 

“Great. Look at this!” Neshaata looked between them all. “Teamwork.”


	4. Dove wings tremble

## Rilienus

“Honestly,” Rilienus frowned at the swath of soldiers they’d just cut through. “And I’m not saying this simply to be argumentative, but… _where_ is she getting all of these arrows?”

“Shut him up,” Sera pointed. 

The elf was a vicious little brute, that much was certain. And the mess that had become of the keep was more than an eyesore, although it was that as well. Literally and figuratively. He rubbed his temple absently as the music of the red lyrium beat at his senses and burned his eyes. 

Out. 

He needed out and away from it. It felt like being trapped all over again. He frowned at a long table that the guards apparently had used recently. Was it humor or laziness that had them sitting to dinner with corpses and skeletons? He shifted through scraps of paper left behind. Notes about changes in shifts. Nothing particularly useful. 

Had this madness been in Gereon all along? He’d been single-minded in his pursuit of saving his son, for certain, but even so… This was too far, for anyone. Perhaps he didn’t see what was happening around him. He spent so much time alone… 

Rilienus sniffed, looking across to where Sera had knelt to pick the lock of a door. Why? Couldn’t she see everything was in wreckage here? What did she expect to find? “Worthless,” he sat on a bench beside the table. If she could pick locks, and had lock picks and her bow and an endless supply of arrows… then why had she still been in a cell when the Herald had found her? “They don’t even mention Gereon. He’s probably tied himself up in that throne room.” 

“Ah!” Dorian held up a scrap of paper in his hand, waving it about like a flag. Cheerful. He was cheerful again, even surrounded by pillars of glowing red lyrium. As though it was nothing more than a stroll through the gardens. A grand game. “Indeed. Apparently he’s charmed the door so that it can only be opened by a set of no less than five keys.”

“He’s been paranoid as long as I’ve known him.”

“Guards grumbling about it here. We should probably search his chambers, too, for notes. Just in case he’s tried to modify the designs to the amulet. Don’t want any surprises.”

How could Dorian _think_? How could he stand it? 

Rilienus blinked hard, shaking his head when he felt himself begin to breathe in time with the disharmony. It wasn’t so bad when he was fighting, moving, _doing_ something, but the moments of quiet in between- He stared up at the ceiling. Mold crawling across stone. Tendrils of tones, creeping across the surface, hiding roots and rot beneath. He pressed his knuckle to his forehead, willing the sense of it away.

“Not pleased with your creation?” 

He glanced up to find the Seeker staring at him. He rose, stretching his back, “The corpses are charming, but why keep so many of the canine tapestries?”

“If you’re entirely finished criticizing the decor, you could come here and help me puzzle through a counterspell,” Dorian said, gazing at him, his eyes silver and sparkling with laughter. “Or maybe I’ll brainstorm with Sera, if you’re otherwise occupied.”

“Alas, Seeker, I am required elsewhere,” he inclined his head in a makeshift bow and crossed to Dorian. “What spell?”

“Good of you to join me.” Dorian looked up from the sketch he’d been making on the back of the letter and met his eyes, brow knotting. “Are you quite alright? You seem distracted.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he deadpanned, peering at the sketch. “If the lock requires physical keys, you won’t be able to counterspell your way through it. He’ll have patterns inlaid in the artifacts, if he’s smart.” He frowned. “Or maybe he won’t, as it happens. Weapons and armor in cells. Poorly trained guards. This… awful bloody _music_ everywhere. This entire place is a mess. The door mightn’t even be _locked_ at this rate.”

“Let me see your wrist,” Dorian murmured. “I can help clear your mind a touch if you’d like me to. Wards. I found a way to dull the sounds, for a time. They don’t work indefinitely, but they should buy you some relief.”

He huffed, offering his hand. “It’s the infernal tempo that’s the trouble.”

Dorian reached into a pouch and removed a handful of gemstones, picking out an assortment of darkly colored pearls. He returned the rest of the collection and swirled his fingers around his palm, drawing them into the air like liquid and painting a fractal glyph onto Rilienus’ wrist. Dorian let his fingers brush against the skin of his arm, before taking his hand away. “Better?”

He took a breath, listening. The song was still there, prodding insistently at the edges of his senses, but farther off. Dimmed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dorian smiled slightly, tilting his head, gazing back at his assorted papers. “I agree, it would be easier to have the physical keys. I’m trying to come up with a plan for if we can’t.” Dorian poked at his diagram. “Five keys, yes? Did you ever visit his home in Asariel?”

“We aren’t _friends_ , Dorian.” He turned his wrist, observing the glint and pattern of the ward he’d drawn. “I was assisting him with a project. A pair of projects. That was all.”

“A set of five keys unlocked his study. Or—“ Dorian smiled, meeting his eyes. “A single spell. Three people knew it, one of them is gone. If he thought I was dead—what do you think the likelihood is he replicated the charm here?”

“I wouldn't hazard a guess. But if you have that spell and he’s used it like the apathetic menace he appears to have become, you won’t need this.” He tapped the paper. “The worst that happens is you let him know we’re here.” He glanced to where the Herald of Andraste - _blessed be Her name_ \- was dragging the bodies of soldiers into a pile and searching them for gear and potions. “And I suspect he probably already knows that.”

“We should try to find the keys, just in case he doesn’t. Do you think it’s possible to return to the exact position in time we left? I can try to control our spatial transference if you believe you can handle the temporal.”

“Reverse that.” Rilienus eyed him speculatively, “And then - possibly - yes. I could read your cipher and correct your maths; that doesn’t mean I understand a word of your time magic.” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe three or four of the auxiliary theories. Not enough to juggle your life in the balance.”

“So little confidence in yourself. I thought for a certainty that at least would’ve grown in my absence.” 

“Awareness of one’s limits is not a lack of confidence. Perhaps you could try discovering if you have any, yourself.”

Dorian chuckled, catching his gaze. “Tell me what you did, exactly. The magic went feral when you interfered, pushed off its course. It wasn’t intended to work that way. You sort of—from what I can tell—punched a hole through the fabric of time itself. Or Alexius did, and you held the fraying edges together? Inelegant. Not the way I’d have done it.”

“It was meant to be a focus in a ritual; not used like a hammer. I suppose you rather forced his hand. Or he’s always been stark raving mad and I failed to pick up on it.”

“The death cult didn’t give it away? Rilienus, really, why did you think I left?”

“Because I killed him.” He glanced across to where the Seeker was whispering in the Herald’s ear. Whispering what. He knew about Seekers, true Seekers. He’d read about them. He could feel her emptiness like a chalice, waiting to close him in. 

“ _Alexius_ ,” Dorian corrected softly. “We were talking about why I left _Alexius_.” 

“He said you were headstrong. That sounded about right to me.”

“He and I worked nonstop, night and day, for years after Felix was infected, all to no avail. No progress by conventional means.” Dorian sighed, turning away. “Then he began to look into things—magic I couldn’t support. That Felix himself didn’t want. We fought. And I wasn’t welcome any longer.”

“Familiar melodies.”

“The refrain of my life, evidently.” Sorrow in his grey eyes. Disappointment and despair that hadn’t been there before. “Grief changed him from the man I knew.”

“Perhaps you ought to learn to allow for change. People aren’t formulas. They aren’t predictable or static. And they’re certainly not perfect by any means. We don’t meet your exhaustive expectations and you fly off into the night.” 

“That wasn’t why-“ Dorian sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“No, of course not. You were saving me. From… what, I can’t imagine. Being more myself.” Rilienus brushed his sleeve down over the new ward dimly glowing on his skin. “I didn’t know Gereon before grief, but I don’t believe that he was like this-“ He waved at the wreckage around them. “Only focused. Focused to the point of wearing blinders, certainly, but not insane.” 

“Got it! Rusty holes got nothing on me!” the blonde elf shouted, shoving the door open. 

“I suppose we should continue our discussion on the ethics of my lack of moral tolerance at another time.” Dorian sighed, straightened, dusted himself off, and turned towards Sera. “Let’s see what your conquest has bought us, then.”

Rilienus held still as he watched Dorian go. He wanted to grab him, kiss his fingertips, shake him, shout at him, and beg forgiveness all at once. He wanted- ah, he _wanted_. Plain and simple. Everything. 

What was he even doing? _Saving the world_. The world had never done anything for him, for either of them, but brought them misery after misery. 

He rose wearily to his feet and went to the doorway, arms crossed, as they searched the room. Trinkets. Letters. Flavor without nutrition. 

Was this how Dorian filled his days now? Wandering from place to place like a vagabond, picking through scraps? He rolled on his shoulder, slipping into the room, and felt the Seeker and the archer spear him with suspicious glances. Ah, let them. What did it matter? He picked up a bottle from a shelf, eyeing the peeling label, then returned it. Sleeping draughts. Unsurprising. Healing potions. He dabbed the point of a claw into it and licked. Off peak, but of some lingering value. He palmed the little bottle and folded himself onto a bench to wait. 

Fight and wait. Fight and wait. Maddening. 

“Look at this.” Dorian had a bound journal in his hand, holding it open for the Herald. “Alexius has been trying to use the amulet to travel back in time, before the Breach, but it’s proven impossible. Just as I suspected. Not enough ambient magic on this side of the Veil. His Elder One tasked him with changing the events of the Conclave, but he’s been unsuccessful, luckily for us. Theoretically, it should be possible to travel to a time _after_ the Veil was torn. Practically—hmm…” He turned to Rilienus, his mouth a thin line, head tilted ever so slightly. “Folding the pattern of time like you’d fold a bolt of silk. Such things were your specialty, if I recall correctly. Do you think that perhaps we could use the rift Alexius created to fling us through time as an anchor? An unstable one, but it _would_ bring us back to the correct moment. Would you be able to sense its resonance and give me a beacon—a pin—to grab onto if I sent us backward? We should cast the spell in the throne room, if possible. Easier to not manipulate both space and time simultaneously if we can avoid it.”

“If we cast in the same place-” He frowned thoughtfully. “It’s a matter of going far enough back and having the mana to do so. The pattern was bent against its intended course. Reversing it should, hypothetically, be simpler; all patterns try to return to what they’re meant to be. I shouldn’t doubt that’s part of why the amulet is failing him. The tapestry of the world is fighting him. It wasn’t meant to be used more than once.” He studied Dorian’s eyes in the dim magelight. “Of course, you actually have to lay hands on the troublesome relic. And hope he hasn’t tinkered with the inscriptions in his attempts to manipulate it. And-” He sighed, noting the blank stares of their counterparts. “Short answer. Yes. Not as an anchor, but yes. As a pin in a map. Certainly.”

“Do you have the mana you’ll need to guide us?” Dorian’s expression grew serious, his brows raised. “We’ll only have one shot. And you already spent what must have been an unholy amount of energy to keep us from disintegrating.”

“I can get you back.” He slipped from the bench, crossing his wrists at his spine. “I can do that much. I wouldn’t say it was possible unless I believed that it was.”

“ _Us_ back.” Dorian frowned. “Unless you plan on staying to redecorate.”

“Maker knows someone needs to.” He sniffed, eyeing the room. “Tartan and goat hides. My eyes are bleeding.” He clapped his hands, “Well. Have we finished here? Plenty more work between us and that amulet. Chop chop.”

“He’s right, we’d better get moving before more Venatori find the trail of corpses we’ve left in our wake.” Dorian looked to the Seeker and the elf. “The keys, then. And we should see if any of our other compatriots survived a year of the Elder One.”

The Herald shook the last of a pouch of coin into her belt purse and headed for the door. “That’s what I like- a plan.” 

Rilienus fell back as they continued their search of the keep. Room by room. Up stairs, down stairs, through shattered door frames. Some manner of battle had rocked the whole of the place. At least one. How many had been fought on these stairs in the last year? By whom? To what purpose? 

Did Alexius really think that he had succeeded in killing the Herald and Dorian? What explanation did he have for Rilienus’ disappearance? Was Felix still alive? If he had died- perhaps that explained why Alexius had let the keep fall to shambles around him. Lost in grief? Was that better than lost in madness? Was there a difference? 

He tucked lyrium away as he found it. Bottle by bottle, shoring his reserves. He didn’t trust any of it, not a lick, but that didn’t matter. He needed all he could find to give him whatever strength he could muster to push Dorian and his blessed Herald back to where they’d come from. 

He balked as they headed down another passage, stepping back. “No, thank you.”

“Something you don't want us to find?” the elf narrowed her eyes on him. “Even better.”

“No, it’s- loud down there.” He lifted his chin. “Not that you don’t look ravishing in crimson, my dear, but I’m afraid it isn’t my color.” He looked at Dorian, “Nor yours.”

“We’ve already gone through the other way.” Dorian turned to him, smirking crookedly. “Don’t worry, Maecilia. I won’t let the lyrium or the Venatori get you. I’ll even take your hand if it’d make you feel better.”

Rilienus traced that crooked, knowing smile with his eyes and nodded. “As you say.” He offered his hand, peering down the stairs. “I expect to be tugged quickly out of harm’s way. I’m delicate.”

Dorian blinked, looking at his outstretched fingers, his eyes widening as he accepted it. “Less delicate than you lead others to believe.”

“Only marginally.” He shut his eyes. Shut them because it felt too damned good to feel Dorian’s touch against his skin, his hands clasped in his own once more- like a dream. A beautiful fragment of an old dream held within the cradle of a nightmare. Rilienus squeezed his fingers gently, and steeled himself with an inhale, focused on the stairs and the song beyond them. He’d seen first hand one of the mages who had been overcome by the stuff; he never wanted to see it again. The _Cava_ , what the Southerners abhorrently called Tranquility, would be better than that. 

Each step was heavier. Each breath changed color as it hit his lungs. Another block of cells and tumbled stone and _red:_ viscous like sap, thickening the air and screaming its disharmony like bent bells and strings all out of tune. His hand tightened on Dorian’s reflexively, tears springing unbidden to his eyes. 

Dorian pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist, tugging him back as the others trudged forward into the cacophony. Slender fingers tracing the rune he’d drawn on Rilienus’ wrist, muffling the sound again as Dorian looked at him with wide, fear-tinged eyes. “If you mean to stay in this Voidspring, then we’ll send the Herald back alone.” His voice sounded fragmented, distorted, at odds with the incessant, discordant song. “I could see the spaces between your words. I’m not leaving without you again. I made that mistake once and I don’t care to repeat it.”

“You know what I am capable of and what I’m not.” He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “I can hold a channel open. If I push all my mana and use all the lyrium I’ve collected so far, I can hold it for you both. Three.” He shook his head. “No. Three is too much. It’s too much for me. And you cannot find your path there any other way. That’s simply how it is.” He frowned when the Qunari leaned closer to the cell most filled with lyrium. “Back, you idiot-“ he snapped. 

She glanced at him, shook her head, and turned back to the cell. “No, it is me. I’m here. What happened to you?” she asked. And Rilienus' stomach turned. Someone was there in that tiny cell surrounded by this filth. 

He didn’t want to see. Couldn’t bear to. But he stepped closer anyway, gritting his teeth against the swell of the blasted song. And- horror sweat drenched his spine as he stared- the woman was not simply amidst the stones but a part of it. He pressed his lips tight to keep from throwing up. 

“Horrific,” Dorian murmured against the side of his head. “I can feel the distortions in her mana— _vishante kaffas_ —death would be kinder.”

He wrapped his arms around Dorian, pressing close to him. His song. His resolute, vibrant, indefatigable song. Rilienus clung to him, to that hope, as his vision doubled. 

“Get her out of that- We have to get her out of that-“ The archer was muttering.

Her. Yes. Her. Still a person. Not much longer now. Rilienus shuddered. “Too late,” he whispered. 

“That’s... red lyrium... growing out of your body,” the Qunari stared through the bars. “How?”

“The longer you’re near it,” the woman- lyrium- churning voice was swimming in his ears. “Eventually- you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

Rilienus pressed his face to Dorian’s hair, fighting his impulse to purge. Or run. Running sounded exceedingly good. Cardamom. Cardamom and slick anise oil and the scent of hushed evenings in hidden quiet- He shuddered, tightening his hold. Maker, he had to get Dorian out of here. Away from this. Away. Out. 

Out. 

“Is there nothing we can do?” Dorian asked softly, his hands tensing around him. “Nothing at all? She’s kept her mind. Her body—“

“Gone. Warped. Gone.” He exhaled sharply. “Kill her. That’s kindest. I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Cassandra snapped. “You’ve done enough.”

Rilienus lifted his head, staring at her through his tears, “She’ll lose her mind, too. If she dies now, she’s intact to reach whatever lie waits for us after this one.” He winced, looking away, “Awful.”

“Grand Enchanter, the choice is yours. I can help your spirit cross the Veil, after you tell us what you know. We mean to stop this reality from ever happening, travel back to the point we met, a year ago, in this castle.” Dorian met the Seeker’s eyes, his frown setting deep lines across his forehead. “Mining red lyrium from your bodies. Experimenting. I read some of the notes. What’s the _purpose_ of it all? Where can we find Alexius?”

“Power-” Rilienus knew her, barely. Fiona. The elf the southern apostates had turned to for leadership. The one who had handed them tidily over to Alexius when he’d altered history once before. He’d never bothered to learn more of her than that. A pawn. Too tangled in the game she didn’t understand to matter to him. “The master Alexius serves- the Elder One... more powerful than the Maker. No one… challenges him and lives... Any-” Old gods and new, the sound of her- Nails dragging down stone. The creak of rusting locks. 

“We have to get out of here,” the Herald straightened. “Go back in time.”

“Yes-!” Fraying hope. Strings breaking as they were played. “ _Please-_ stop this from happening.”

“You’ve my word on that, Grand Enchanter.” Neshaata looked back to Dorian, hardened, “Your old teacher is going to regret he didn’t just kill me.”

“Us both,” Dorian said, his quicksilver eyes hardening into silver. “He’s lost sight of everything we worked towards. The Gereon Alexius I knew died a long time ago, it seems.”

“Your spymaster,” the once-grand enchanter grated. “She is here. Find her.” Twisting, seeping, winding, dragging, screaming, bending - bending - bending- 

The Herald nodded once. “We will.”

“Stop this-” she whispered. “Stop- Make it stop-” Pleading. Gods, _pleading_. 

Rilienus snarled, “Do you hear her? Old gods and new-” He tore himself free from Dorian, shoving past the Seeker and the archer and the Herald and the Blighted, unending fucking song. 

“I know you,” the enchanter whispered. “The healer.”

“Not today, sister.” He drew the short dagger at his waist and placed the point to her heart. “Give Him my regards when you find Him.” She nodded, once, quickly, and he rammed the dagger deep. Blood - hot, fresh, thriving with power - all of it tainted, muddled, darkened. 

He shuddered, holding her gaze until it filmed over, then left the jeweled dagger where it had struck true, turned, and stalked out of the chamber. Up. Out. Air. He needed air. Not that there was any. 

“Come,” he heard Dorian say to the others before his footsteps followed quickly after his. “We need to search for Sister Nightingale. If she lives… she’ll know how to get at Alexius, if anyone does.”

No peace. No freedom. No clear skies. Never again. 

Dorian brushed his fingers against Rilienus’. “Three isn’t too much for me, Ril. Either all of us return, or we’ll both stay here together.”

“Am I dead, too?” He spun, shaking, his fingers still hot and dripping. “Am I?”

“Are you-?” Dorian reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and offered it to him. “What do you mean?”

“You said he died. You said he was as good as dead.” He batted the handkerchief away, spattering the cloth with droplets of cold red. “I live with my choices. I live with my actions. This.” He held up his hand. “This is mine. One more death on my conscience. Nothing touches you. No one can.”

“You didn’t do this. You didn’t build this world.” Dorian turned to him, his eyes downcast, pleading. “Channel me. We can both go home. If you think I’m going to watch you sacrifice yourself for no reason, here, of all bloody places—“ Dorian shook his head, grim determination, meeting his eyes, silver, wide and waiting. “I thought I’d lost you forever. Come home with me, Rilienus. I can’t bear to lose you again.”

“You didn’t lose me. You left. You left and you didn’t look back and - good, you should have. But why should it matter to you what I do?” He could hear himself - loud in his own ears, echoing. He could feel the tears burning down his cheeks. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. “Why in the Void should you care whether I am here or there when I’m dead in your eyes already anyway?”

“Why should it _matter_?” Dorian stared at him, wide-eyed. “Because there hasn’t been a single fucking day I haven’t thought about the last time we spoke and wished I could take it back. That I was more afraid of what they’d do to you than anything you’d done- And I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t find the words, and then I couldn’t find _you,_ and now you’re here and you want me to walk away again? I did that once, Rilienus, and have spent every day of my life agonizing over whether it was a mistake, only to realize you thought I hated you. All this time you thought I _hated_ you. That I’m even capable-“

“Of course you’re capable. No reason you shouldn’t be. It’s not called a forbidden art for-” Rilienus dropped his voice on the last words. “Don’t tell me you weren’t afraid. I saw your eyes, I heard your voice when you sent me away. I hear it often, discordant in my memory.”

“I _was_ afraid,” Dorian said quietly, taking Rilienus’ hand gently and placing his handkerchief back in his palm. “You brought me back to _life_. I had _died_. I shouldn’t be here, but I am, and if anyone, _anyone_ ever found out about us, they’d have killed you.”

“I told you that I could protect us.” He gritted his teeth. “You weren’t meant to die there. I saw what was waiting for you. It wasn’t the bloody Order of Argent. It isn’t this place either.”

“It will be, unless you come with me,” Dorian whispered. “Come home with me, Rilienus. I don’t want crimson curtains and dog statues to be the last things I see.”

“They won’t be. Fate cannot be so neatly sidestepped.”

“Please,” Dorian murmured, wrapping his fingers around Rilienus’ and dabbing at his cheek with the cloth. “Please, if you can bear it, give me the chance to love you again. I’ve thought of little else.”

Too gentle, that touch. Too soft, that cloth. Too warm, those eyes. “I’m not who I was, Dorian. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Come home with me, then, and let me find out for myself.” Dorian took the cloth from his fingers and wiped the blood and tears away from his skin, tossing the handkerchief aside and incinerating it. “I’m not who I was, either. Maybe that’s alright.” He tucked a stray curl behind Rilienus’ ear. “What’s life without risk?”

Risk, indeed. Rilienus cupped his bandaged palm to Dorian’s neck and pulled him close, tasting the truth of him like wine. 

Dorian’s hands gripped the front of his robes and his lips parted at Rilienus’ touch. His arms encircled, wrapping around the robe he’d woven, dark cloth and a cloak that emblemized a bird’s wing. Dorian had given him his name, his heart, and somehow still held them with a fondness he’d thought had died in the world. “Channel me, _amatus_ ,” he murmured. “Take all you need. And come back with me. Maker’s tears, don’t stay here. Not after everything.”

“Dorian-” Rilienus breathed, quaked, fell with his clipped wings and somehow still felt like he was soaring. He wept - gods and monsters - for himself and for Dorian and for Fiona and for all the terrible, awful things that would never be set right no matter what he did. He wept and he laughed, but he kissed him anyway. Dorian: sweet and strong and brilliant. Dorian, who had been the first to see him and somehow, by some power Rilienus couldn’t understand, still wanted to. After years and distance and fury. So he kissed him. Because he was helpless against him and stronger for him and there was hope in his palms and his chest and his shoulders and his tongue. Hope, like a living thing, replacing his blood with sunlight. “Anything,” he whispered against his lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“Then take my power,” Dorian said, his voice strained. “We’ll share it. Cast the spells together. As long as you come home. Come home with me. Let me love you again.”

“As you will-” He stroked his fingers up Dorian’s neck, feeling the shape of his scalp, the silk of his hair. To taste him, to hold him, to blend into him again- “As you will, love,” he murmured against his lips. “My love, my heart, take me home again.”

Dorian pulled away, smiling, smiling as though he’d inherited the world. “I will. You have my word.” Kissed his forehead. “I’ll keep you safe.” Slipped his fingers to twine their hands together, turning back to glance at their companions, flushing crimson.

Rilienus glanced at the three women in the arch of the stairwell. The Seeker - eyes so wide they nearly didn’t fit in the sockets any longer, cheeks stained red. The archer - squinting like she’d just been force-fed eight unripe lemons. 

The Herald nodded at them, shrugged. “Let’s go kill some assholes.” She gave them a thumbs up, unsheathed her sword, and elbowed the Seeker. “Come on. World to save.”


	5. As if calamity had but begun

## Dorian

Relief. Relief washed over Dorian’s body like a summer rainstorm, cascading down his limbs and pooling at his feet even as they ran through the castle, cutting down their enemies. He let the others scout ahead, throwing up barriers to protect the women as they fought through demons and Venatori mages and soldiers, ripping through them like tissue paper. Rilienus stayed close by, setting silencing wards and blinding and deafening groups of soldiers while Dorian electrocuted them. 

Taking his hand, when the others weren’t looking. Stealing glances and catching the smallest twitch of a smirk across Rilienus’ lips after a particularly stunning display of shimmering light.

Whatever happened once they returned, Rilienus was alive and here and his and, for the moment, that was enough. Enough that he wished to keep on living. Enough that he was willing to try. 

The five of them turned a corner at the top of a partially destroyed staircase and a horrible voice resounded through the hall, echoing against broken mirrors and upturned tables and torn portraits and tapestries with lyrium growing from the corners of the frames. 

“How did Adaar know of the attack outside of the temple?” a man’s gruff voice shouted. Insistent. Furious. Frustrated. “Answer!”

The sharp sound of a hand hitting flesh behind a heavy wooden door. 

“Never!” A woman with an Orlesian accent, lilting, indignant. Another slap and the rattling of chains. A dull thud and the woman’s groan. 

“Sister Nightingale,” Dorian breathed, running across the stone after Adaar and the others towards the sounds. 

“There’s no use to this defiance, little bird,” the man’s voice said, sickeningly sweet. “There’s no one left for you to protect.”

It made Dorian want to retch. He looked to Rilienus, taking his hand and squeezing it, hoping for his sake that she wasn’t being consumed by lyrium like the Grand Enchanter. “Strength, _mon rossignol_.”

“You will break,” the man urged, and Dorian could hear the slip of a knife from a scabbard. 

“I will _die_ first,” the woman spat, her voice clear as daylight, even from the other room.

Neshaata kicked down the door, not even bothering with the lock, wood splintering under her boot. Cassandra followed her into the chamber, her eyes wide with horror. Leliana’s eyes were sunken, her flesh mangled like she’d aged a century; hanging from the ceiling, her wrists in shackles, still wearing her Inquisition uniform. 

The spymaster’s eyes grew to match the Seeker’s as her gaze landed on Adaar. Her guard turned to face his new guests, just as Leliana lifted her legs, wrapping them around the Venatori’s throat; she snapped his neck with a sharp movement and the interrogator’s body crumpled to the ground before her. Dorian melted her chains and Neshaata ran to catch her as she slumped into the Herald’s arms. 

Rilienus slipped past them all like a shadow, poking through the notes on the table otherwise littered with torture devices. He didn’t seem to see them as he picked up a few of the papers, folding them, and meeting Dorian’s gaze across the room. Haunted. Furious. Bewildered. A refraction of emotions crossed his features then hid away behind a practiced mask. 

“I’ve got you,” Neshaata murmured. “You’re safe now.”

“Forget safe. If you’re back from the dead,” Leliana rasped, straightening from Neshaata’s side, “you need to do better than _safe_. You need to end this. You have weapons. Good. The magister is probably in his chambers.” She staggered, righted herself, and collected a bow from the collection of weapons piled near the wall. “You’ll follow me. I will show you the way.”

“You’re not even curious how we got here?” Neshaata followed her into the hall. “Or why-”

“No.” Leliana notched an arrow to her bow and moved, seeming to grow more steady with each step. 

“The magister sent us into the future,” she explained doggedly. “This- all of this- his victory, his Elder One- we can still stop this from happening. Isn’t that right?” Neshaata looked back to Dorian, lifting her brows. The expression stretched the warpaint on her face, making her eyes look wild. “Dorian- tell her.”

“If Alexius still holds the amulet he used to send us forward, I believe I can alter the spell to send us back in time.” Dorian began, hesitantly, looking between Leliana, Neshaata, and Rilienus. Leliana’s face… he’d never seen such a horrible condition. The smell that filled the room reminded him of the Taint on Felix’s skin. He turned, trying to meet her eyes, but they stung, cold as a moonless Ferelden night. “Back to where this all began, one year ago. It will just take some metaphysical transference, the theory is sound--I should know, I designed it--and we should be able to return to any point in time after the Breach and--”

“Enough,” Leliana snapped. “And you wondered why people fear mages.” She practically creaked as she turned, muscles twisting like the gnarled branches of an ancient tree. “No one should have this power. You think yourselves gods. Even now, all of this is a game to you. Some future you hope will never exist. It isn’t a game. I suffered. The whole world suffered.”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian breathed, shoulders slumping. “This was all my fault. I cannot change what happened to this world, but--”

“Dorian,” Rilienus murmured quietly, a shadow just behind his shoulder. He shook his head slightly, watching her.

Leliana sneered at him, at them both, at the three of them, as though they were strangers, interlopers, when once they’d been something approaching friends. Her teeth were beginning to blacken, cracked to the gum. “We end this now. One way or another,” she croaked and left them to follow in her wake.

“Tainted,” Dorian turned to Rilienus, falling behind them, whispering. 

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “They- yes.” He brushed Dorian’s fingers, the cool metal of his silver claws sending a shiver up Dorian’s arm. “Not now.”

Dorian quickly took his hand, squeezing his fingers, sighing, watching Leliana stalk through the empty halls. “I feel helpless here, _amatus_. Worse than helpless.”

“Strange, since you’re the only one who isn’t,” Rilienus snipped, then sighed plaintively, resting his cheek to Dorian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it must- We’ll set it right.”

“So that’s it, right?” Sera had stopped ahead of them, squinting, awash in that singing menace of red. “Murder and torture really set your boy off, eh?”

“All of it,” Rilienus whispered, ignoring her. “We’ll set it all back to rights. All of them. You’ll see.”

Dorian nodded weakly, unable to meet Sera’s eyes. “If I’d never joined him--if I’d gone south to retrieve Felix-” He frowned, rubbing his temples. “We have to. This cannot come to pass.”

He heard the breath near his ear, as though Rilienus were about to speak, but he didn’t. Only wrapped both his hands around Dorian’s and held on. The cool scrape of his rings against Dorian’s skin was an anchor of sorts. A small, quiet, shifting reminder that he wasn’t alone in this. That all the weight he felt across his shoulders could be shared. And in that squeeze of his fingers and the glimpse he’d seen of Rilienus’ reaction to that torture chamber… It made Dorian wonder whether Rilienus harbored more than just lingering feelings for him. A sliver of faith behind those brilliant green eyes, that they could leave the world better than they found it. That it might be worth it to try. 

Dorian held on to that hope, those hands, the man he had loved and lost and located again, following their Tainted spymaster and infected companions, and the only woman who could save the world through a ruined castle, destroyed by the pride and desperation of the man he’d once thought of as almost a father. 

Swallowing, sighing, he trudged on, running his fingers along the smooth surface of the ring that was a twin to his own. A lodestone. A pin in a map. It was enough. It had to be enough. There was no other choice.

—

“That’s the last one.” Rilienus tossed the fifth red gem to Dorian, rising from the fallen guard’s side. There was sweat standing out on his brow. He’d taken a blow in the scrap; his reserve of mana was long gone and he’d been relying on the short staves in his hands for the last two fights. He passed a healing potion to Neshaata and leaned against a railing, guarding his injured side. “Time to go, I think.” 

“How are you all doing on arrows and potions?” Dorian called to the others. “I’ve got one dose left of lyrium, if you need it, Ril, and two healing potions still on me.”

“Save them.” He exhaled carefully. “Gereon isn’t likely to go down quietly.”

“Take the lyrium, at least. You’re dry as a bone.” Dorian’s brow knitted and he frowned. “I’ll be fine. I need you to have something left when we’re done, to get us back.”

“I’ll save it to use later.” He took the bottle, tucking it carefully into his belt pouch. He licked his lips, wincing as he trudged down the stairs. “I’m going to be happy never to see this fucking castle again. Honestly, who loves dogs this much?” He tugged at a tapestry of a panting wolfhound. “The fact that he left these things hanging is a terrible indicator of his mental state.”

“Stop talking,” Leliana guttered, passing them. She was a cold wind, unstoppable since they’d set her loose from her chains. 

Rilienus rubbed the back of his neck, offering a wan smile to Dorian. “I think I’m growing on her.” 

Exhausted. He looked exhausted. They all were. 

Even Neshaata, who was usually brimming over with energy more after a fight than before, drank half a health potion, her war paint running down her dark cheeks like bright yellow tears. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will, thank you. I’m nothing if not optimistic.” 

“I had that sense of you. All cheer and roses.” She snorted. “You’ve found yourself in good company. We’re all happy ending types here.” She waved off Cassandra’s offered tonic with a shake of her head. “No, you need it.”

“I am past hope. You are not.” The Seeker pressed the small bottle to her hand. “Take it, for the battle ahead.”

“See that?” Neshaata hugged Cassandra around the shoulders. “Optimism Incorporated. Eh, Sera?”

Sera yanked an arrow from a corpse. “Cloth armor keeps my arrows from breaking.”

“Looking on the bright side,” Neshaata grinned with fierce, forced cheer. “I like it.” She met Dorian’s gaze with a kind of vibrant panic. Her hair - thick and coarse, wound into locks as thick and heavy as rope - had fallen from its usual crown between her horns to drip down her back, wet with the blood of their enemies. The gash she’d taken from one of the soldier’s blades to her shoulder was already healing from the potion, skin mending like clay smoothed by an invisible thumb. 

“What are the chances, do you think, that my former master can be reasoned with?” Dorian asked, thumbing the keys in his pocket. 

“Before or after I stuff his eyes full of arrows?” Sera grunted.

“Well! Certainly afterward he’d be amenable to whatever we want, but it’d be easier on all of us if we didn’t need to fight him. We’re not exactly fresh, anymore,” Dorian said, a wan twinge of hope in his voice. 

“No,” Leliana said simply, her voice drained of any emotion save anger. She didn’t turn back towards them. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t pause for a moment.

Dorian hated looking at her, seeing the hollowness in her expression. He’d spent the evening before they’d left Haven drinking wine with Ambassador Montilyet, who shared stories of when the women knew each other in Orlais. Leliana used to sing and play the lute, a trained and effective bard. She loved flowers. 

The Blight, her time with the Hero of Ferelden, and then her position as the Left Hand of the Divine had tempered her into steel. Her time at Redcliffe had, apparently, burnt out whatever light remained. 

His fault. It was his theory that had allowed it all to happen: for the southern mages to be enslaved, for Alexius to use them to lure Neshaata and the rest to this Blighted castle, for Sera and Cassandra and Fiona and Leliana and all of the thousands who had died because he thought he could control the flow of time and - when he realized he could - hadn’t destroyed it, but protected that research with ciphers and calculator errors.

His fault. He and Gereon were supposed to go south with Livia Alexius to accompany Felix back from Orlais. She’d died protecting him. If either of them had been there, perhaps they’d all still be in Asariel, drinking tea and studying late into the evening.

His fault. Rilienus had taken up with the Venatori because he’d likely had nowhere else to turn to. If only he’d had the courage to ask him to flee from the Order, that terrible night. If he’d told him that he forgave him. If he had tried to understand. Had told him that he’d still meant the words he’d whispered in the darkness, even though he was terrified and confused and heartbroken.

How much devastation could’ve been prevented but for one mage’s pride?

“What are you thinking?” Rilienus slipped to his side. “A barter? I could offer him a very nice halla bone pendant, or perhaps we could try to convince him that verdant, magical amulets are out of fashion.” He slipped his arm around Dorian’s waist, his eyes sharp and sober despite the glib tone. “I mean, really. Out with the old, in with the new, no? Maybe a nice earth-breaking charm. Or there’s a lovely little dog statue I found in a dig outside of Carastes that’s _just_ the sweetest; that would fit the motif here at least.”

“I doubt that would hold much sway with him,” Dorian said softly, kissing his cheek before pulling away. 

“No,” he puffed his cheeks. “Probably not.”

They’d arrived at the entrance to the hall. Five slots in a rune carved into the great stone door. Five red crystals that fit just right. No need for spells or tests. The magic hummed as the door unlocked. “Are we ready?” Dorian asked.

“Are we ever?” Neshaata brushed her hair back over her shoulder, steadying her grip on her shield. “What do you say, Cass? Smash the door in three, two…?” 

The warriors charged the tall doors, shields raised, slamming them wide. The throne room was largely unchanged, the stairs rising to the dais where the arl’s throne still stood before the great stone mantel. 

Alexius rested a hand on that throne, half-turned from them despite the clamor of their entrance. Old, certainly- the year had weighed him down, curling him on himself like a withered vine. “And here you are, finally.” He sighed heavily, “I knew that you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. I felt the magic change in that last moment.” He glanced towards them, drawn. His gaze swept over their number, a sneer curling his lip as he noted Rilienus. “The spider, of course. I suspected you had something to do with it when you disappeared. So hard to find good help.” He looked back to the flames burning high in the fireplace. “This is it. My final failure.”

Dorian looked around the dark throne room. There were no guards; Alexius stood alone, save for a hunched figure in the corner. Dorian approached, warily, horrified.

“Alexius,” he said, his voice ringing through the chamber. “What happened to the man who sought to build schools instead of waging war? Who worked to promote Laetans? Who taught me to believe that Tevinter was worth saving? What madness has taken you?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he sighed. “None of it does. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“It matters,” Dorian called out, feeling a stinging in the back of his throat, but his voice held steady. “It is not the end, Alexius. I will not let this stand. All of this destruction—“ Dorian took another step forward, fingers flexing on his staff. “The amulet. Give it to me. It is your last chance for even a speck of redemption. Show me that the man I once knew isn’t—“

A flash of movement from the corner and Leliana had the crouched figure pulled upright, a slender, naked dagger at his throat. He was dressed in golden robes, a hood thrown back behind his head, pale and sniveling, but still-

“Felix!” Alexius held out a hand, reaching towards the— It _was_ Felix, his features more sunken and drawn than Leliana’s. Mindless, head bobbing aimlessly. A ghoul, taken by the Blight. Nothing left of his former friend but a shell of a body, decomposing before their eyes.

Dorian felt his heart hammer in his chest. 

“Maker’s _breath_ , Alexius!” Dorian cried, and only Rilienus’ arms held him back from rushing the dais. “What have you _done_?”

“He would’ve _died_ , Dorian!”

“Are you too blind to see that he already has?” Dorian shouted, pulling himself from Rilienus’ grasp. “You _betrayed_ him. Destroyed the world for this mockery of life! We begged you to stop! He didn’t want _this_!”

“Please,” Alexius grasped at the air as though there might be some sense hiding invisibly before him. “ _Please_. Don’t hurt my son.”

“Give us the amulet,” Neshaata took one step towards Dorian, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. “And she’ll let him go.”

“Let him go and I will.” Alexius stared at the knife, at Felix, at Leliana’s withered face beside him. “I’ll give you anything you want.” 

“Leliana.” There was a gravitas in Neshaata’s voice that was so rarely present. A heavy stone sinking in deep water. “Step away from him. It’s done. We don’t need anymore-”

“No!” she hissed, spittle catching at Felix’s withered cheek. She moved, sharp and quick, jerking unnaturally, and the blade sliced through the paper-thin flesh of his friend’s throat. Felix gave no sound, no flicker of response as he collapsed at her feet, blood pooling from him onto the stones like spilled wine. “I want the world back.”

Adaar swore ripely as Alexius screamed his agony, tearing at the air; there was a tell-tale hiss of ozone and the nauseating swell of power that burst into the air right before a rift- The space behind them split wide, spitting demons into the throne room amidst a rush of hot wind that twisted time around itself.

“Watch the temporal fluxes; your movements will be unpredictable.” Dorian turned to Rilienus, gripping his staff tightly as demons crawled out of the fissure in the air. “The demons. Protect the Herald so she can seal the rift. I’ll keep my mentor occupied.”

“I protect _her_?!” Rilienus gaped, looked down at the two staves in his hands, then at the massive qunari already charging the nearest demon. “You’re mad. You’re all mad. Fuck,” he spun the staves over his hands and ran after her. 

Dorian let off half a dozen barriers, around himself and each of their companions before turning to face Alexius. He expelled a bolt of lightning, but it bounced uselessly off his master’s shield. Fire careened towards him and he skirted the Fade, stepping out of the way of the fireball as it struck a fear demon straight in the chest. 

“Why?” Dorian shouted, summoning shards of ice from behind Alexius’ barrier and keeping them suspended in the air around him. “ _Why_? Felix trusted you and you went against his wishes.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Dorian,” he said, as Dorian crashed the ice into his body, sending him staggering forward, grunting. “He was all I had—“

“He was my brother, and you betrayed us both!” Dorian ran a hand through the air, cracking his barrier like glass. “You were not the only one who grieved. You never saw that.”

“Dorian—“ Alexius’ voice was weak, defeated.

“I thought that you were like me. I saw myself in you, who I wanted to become.” Dorian drew lightning from the ceiling, crafting it into the bars of a cage and trapping him. “You’re more like my _father_.”

A wave of his hand and Alexius pulled the lightning towards him, channeling and sending it back towards Dorian. He moved quickly to redirect it towards the wall, charring the stone above where Sera had perched, shooting exploding arrows towards nearby demons. Alexius levitated into the air, crafting a sparkling barrier, floating above Dorian’s head and landing directly in front of Neshaata.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian cursed, running after him, refreshing her barrier.

“No!” Rilienus darted between them, waving Neshaata back. “Run! Focus on the rift! Isn’t that what you do?”

“Farewell, little spider,” Alexius hissed. “You failed me for the last time.” Flames poured from his hands and Dorian watched as they swam over Rilienus where he stood, engulfing him entirely.

Dorian howled, spreading his fingers and following Alexius into the air, cracking his barrier again and summoning a shimmering, woven net; it wrapped around Alexius, squeezing him tightly, compressing him within the shield Rilienus had nervously shown Dorian on the battlements, a decade ago. His mentor crashed to the ground, the magic that had been holding him aloft flowing through the shield and into Dorian’s body, captured like flies in a web.

He ran towards Rilienus, grabbing the vial of elfroot potion strapped to his belt, dispelling the flames with a flick of his wrist. He was curled tight on the ground, tucked under his cloak like a turtle in a shell. A sharp gasp and he unrolled, like a miracle, scrambling to his feet and whipping his cloak off; the cloth smoked in his hands as he twisted it tight and snapped it out and down to the side, the garment erupting into a flaming whip.

“I could have used another few seconds to make it stronger,” he grunted, “but thank you all the same.” He nodded towards Alexius, “Heads up.”

Dorian smirked, snapping his fingers and unweaving the fabric of the shield as they both turned toward the magister. The ground began to ripple underneath them, an undulating wave of stone swelling as Dorian grabbed Rilienus by the arm and launched them into the air, solidifying the gas underneath their feet. 

Sera jumped for a banister, clinging by the tips of her fingers before pulling herself up, dangling in the air upside down, and shooting a fear demon between the eyes with another exploding arrow. 

“Felix is _gone_ , Alexius!” Dorian shouted, clinging to his staff. “The amulet!”

“The Herald!” Rilienus spat, pointing to where Neshaata was back to back with Cassandra, once again fighting instead of managing the rift. Rilienus caught the other end of his whip in his fist, tightening the line of fire between his hands. “Throw me,” he nodded, taking a deep breath. “Throw me to them. Take care of Alexius.” He rolled his shoulder back, “I love you.”

Dorian’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Don’t die on me, _mon rossignol_.” He turned back towards Alexius and sent Rilienus soaring across the room with a burst of force, slowing his fall as he descended.

“Ah, so you’re acquainted with my spider.” Alexius frowned, staring at Dorian, turning his hands in a circle. “He never mentioned you to me.” The magister flexed his hands toward him and time nearly stilled, his movements labored as he fought against the manipulation. Alexius let out another burst of flame, but Dorian couldn’t cast, couldn’t move, couldn’t block the blaze. He turned his face away as the flames licked at his side, shouting as his robes caught fire.

Time sped around him and Dorian rolled to the side, dispelling the fire and gritting his teeth against the stinging burn on his arm. He twirled his staff, slamming it against the air platform, drawing wisps from across the Veil, twisting them, sending the arcane horrors towards his master. 

The rift began to hum and crackle as Neshaata caught hold of it once more, a stream of vibrant energy catapulting between her and the Veil uncannily, even as the massive claws of a Pride demon curled around the edges. Of course, Pride had heard them and come running, like to like. 

Cassandra was overrun, shouting to draw the leaping twisting wraiths towards her while Rilienus warded Neshaata’s back, swinging the whip so fast it looked almost like a wall of flames. 

“Big one! Really big one!” Sera shouted. 

“Take the Terrors!” Rilienus shouted at her. “I’ll deal with it!”

Dorian landed lightly beside him, Alexius still distracted by the swirling horrors, a thick fog swallowing his body. “Not that I doubt your abilities, but—“ Dorian faced the demon, his jaw tightening as he set barriers around them. “Watch its lightning attacks, Ril.” 

“Take it down,” he said calmly, watching the beast stretch the rift wide to climb through. “Take down the barrier. Mine. Take it down.”

“ _Amatus_ ,” he murmured, his eyes going wide as he dispelled the shield around his former lover, putting one up around Leliana as one of the Terrors lunged at her.

Rilienus nodded at him, walking towards Pride. “Not my first time with one of these.” He let the whip trail limply behind him. “They’re pathetic, really,” he lifted his voice. “Weak, miserly little creatures. Not worth the effort in most cases.” The beast’s massive slit eyes snapped from Neshaata to him, roaring. He circled wide, away from the others. “Bad breath to boot. Wonderful.” He smiled, staring up at the demon. “Bad dog. Sit. Stay.”

It swung at him, unleashing a line of lightning directly towards him and the fool stepped into it as though it were a warm rainstorm. His hair raised, teeth clenched, as the curl of electricity snapped around him like a vice. And the runes on his armor burst into a light so bright it was nearly blinding. Black mesh shone silver like chains, snapping and buzzing, and Rilienus dropped to his knees throwing his arms wide on a scream. The energy built around him, through him, charring the ground beneath him and then erupted down the line of his arm as he snapped his whip towards the demon, dissipating all of its power and the remaining flames on his weapon into one massive conflagration that sent the beast reeling back, charred. 

Rilienus spat, the liquid sizzling where it hit the stone. “Try me again, you oversized-“ 

It swung its arm where his whip was wrapped around it, raging, and dragged him up and off his feet. His body was limp as he swung into it, stiffening at the last moment to drive his heels into its chest. Another torrent of flames and force pierced from his heels into the demon’s hide, pouring hot ichor out over Rilienus as he hit the ground with a thud.

Dorian felt the tug of his mana as Alexius finally managed to drive the horrors back into the Fade. “Close the fucking rift!” He shouted, blasting the rest of the demons with chain lightning, vaporizing them. 

Neshaata shouted wordlessly at him, the anchor in her palm crackling and pulsing like a living, breathing entity. 

Dorian raced across the ground, slick with melted ice, blood, and dust, towards his former master. He lifted his staff and flicked it forward, sending a wave of air toward Alexius, but he redirected it towards the wall. A blast of force and Alexius batted it away, sorrow and fury mingled in his eyes. A fire blast and Alexius flexed his fingers and it exploded into ash above their heads.

“You could have had the world.” Alexius hovered in the air and stepped closer, the stone rising up from the floor to meet his feet. His gaze was fixed on Dorian, who gripped his staff, panting and sweating from exertion. “With you, I would have been able to save him.” He raised a hand and Dorian’s feet lifted from the ground, his legs bending as Alexius drew him through the air. “I would have been able to satisfy the Elder One.” Dorian turned his head to look at Neshaata, sealing the rift with the glowing green mark. “We could have ruled as _kings_ , Dorian.” He searched for Ril, helping Cassandra to her feet, as Alexius grabbed Dorian by the cloak, holding him over empty air. “And my son would still be alive to see it.”

“No,” he said, meeting the eyes of the man who had dragged him from the depths of despair and given his life a purpose again. “There are things worse than death, Magister. And this—“ Dorian exhaled, solidifying the vapor in the room into a glittering dagger, and plunged it deep into Gereon Alexius’ chest, grabbing the amulet and snapping it from its chain as they fell from the ceiling. He landed lightly, facing the crumpled body of his benefactor, clutching the amulet he’d helped to create. “This is just about as horrible as anything can get.”

Neshaata panted, running up to him as - beyond the throne room - chunks of the roof began to fall amidst a roaring cacophony. 

“The Elder One!” Leliana shouted. “He’s coming! You must hurry!”

“I have the amulet! I just need about an hour to—“ 

“An hour!” she roared, her eyes black as a starless night and cold as the ashes of a burned corpse. “No! You must go now! Now before he-“ 

There were already demons pouring through the holes in the roof beyond the room. An army of demons, they’d said. Hundreds. Swarming. 

“It’s unmodified,” Dorian shouted, turning to Rilienus. “We’ll need to improvise. Altering the fabric of time in less than a minute?”

“We die trying or we die being torn to shreds.” Rilienus tugged the stopper from the bottle of lyrium with his teeth and gulped at the contents.

“Go!” Leliana shouted to Cassandra and Sera. “Buy them a few precious moments.” She turned towards Dorian, drawing her bow and nocking it. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

“Rilienus, to me!” Dorian yelled, extending his hand and closing his eyes. “Bind our power together.”

“If I can’t control it,” he gripped Dorian’s hand. “Throw me loose and take her through.”

“There’s no ‘if’! You _will_ control it, or we all die!” Dorian met his eyes, warm grass with a patch of poppies. Warm and afraid and determined. Brilliant and beautiful. Lost and returned. He pulled him into his arms and kissed him, hard, their noses crushing against one another. “I believe in you. I love you. _Now_ , Ril.”

He felt the tickle of Rilienus’ mana brush him, tentative thread-thin fingertips slipping past his lips as Rilienus kissed him- down his tongue, his throat, multiplying as they coursed into him like settling roots. “Dragons,” Rilienus whispered, strangely pure, his voice harmonizing with itself as Dorian felt his mana thrumming up those roots into him. “Think of dragons.”

Dorian let the walls he’d built to contain his mana begin to crumble, unleashing more and more energy with every loosened brick. “If you start to get lost, feel my touch, _amatus_.” A surge of power crackled to his fingertips, blossoming and slipping through his body and into Rilienus’. He tried to recall the sensation they’d shared, pulling his mana into discrete vines that could be braided, woven, blended into a fabric.

A tapestry. A tapestry of finite pearlescent sand and infinite sky. Threads of silver and gold piercing through thick Orlesian brocade, crackling with energy, as a hum like thunder rolled through and around them. There was a breath that felt like an eternity between the first crack of thunder and the sting of the electricity- Time stuttered, stopped, reversed for an instant. An instant- then the whole of the tapestry began to twist, curling around them like a roll of parchment, thick with the scent of ink and sweat and radiating chords the color of violets and embrium and rusting leaves. 

A spear like a needle- He felt his mana pulled, pulled endlessly, drawn hand over hand until there was nothing to hold but only the roar of that ocean pouring forth. 

Screams. A building filled with fire. Burning, searing, searching, smoke-filled lungs. Bars on a bedroom window, glyphs drawn on a floor. An obsidian box, sweltering, sweating, aching. Screams, men dying outside a bedchamber. Lashes, burning, shocking, whipping into unmarred flesh. Alone, alone, alone in the darkness, scrambling for purchase upon a falling tower. Promises broken, saved, forgotten, kept. Treachery and betrayal. Blood dripping onto stone, rapidly cooling. Screams, screaming children, screaming into the unending darkness, shouts into the Void.

He pushed them away, through their headlong tilt through the bracken, vanishing the nightmares, sending them careening back into the depths of the sea. 

Soft. Rilienus’ cheeks were soft, his skin softer, dewed with sweat and blood, speckled with ash. Quiet nights, the silence broken with laughter and shouts of pleasure, smiling against naked skin as daylight fades into evening. Whispered secrets by magelight. Confessions. Words of love, hope for a future. A future. A future—

“Neshaata!” The mages shouted as one, their voices hollow as the Herald ran towards them, near the throne. Dorian turned his head and lifted the amulet in his hand, their toes lifting from the ground as the amulet floated before them. Their voices were thunder, echoing in the room, through their minds, through the fabric of the world. “The channel. Let us open the channel.”

“Though darkness closes,” the spymaster intoned, “I am shielded by flame.” The doors that Leliana had barricaded burst open. She let loose a stream of arrows, taking out Terrors and soldiers, a dozen bodies falling around her. “Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me at your side.”

Neshaata moved to help her, but Rilienus grabbed her by the arm.

“You move, and we all die!” They intoned together, staring towards Neshaata.

An arrow took the bard in the chest, but she kept fighting, swinging her bow like a club to take out enemy after enemy as the swirling green nexus opened in midair before them. 

“Now!” They shouted in unison, urging Adaar through the portal as he and Rilienus held it open. She leaped, and their gazes caught and held each other like hands, like magnets, like links in a chain. Now. 

It was an ocean they fell into, headlong, eyes wide. It should have been cold, but it was steam rising from scent baths and fresh tea and forgotten wine resting on sunny windowsills. Easy, lazy, dawn-lit mornings, melting caramel and the gentle buzz of regret that the day had come too soon again, again, again…

—

Feet touching stone. Dorian dropped Rilienus’ hand, looking at his own, skin so unfamiliar after they’d just been boundless. He felt drained, an entire ocean sipped through a straw, leaving him dry and cracking. He’d never felt so hollowed out before, but then again, he’d never killed a magister, a horde of demons, and a castle of soldiers, before flinging three people bodily through time and space. 

Their consciences must have separated as soon as his store of mana ran out. Enough. Barely. Barely enough to bring them back. But enough. It was enough. A minute of prepping the spell and somehow it had worked. He wanted to laugh and cry and collapse into a heap on the stone.

Time and space. Back in Redcliffe castle, but at the right time. No red lyrium. No Taint. Felix was looking at him with wide eyes. Alexius’ shoulders slumped.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Dorian said, his tired eyes sparkling with mirth. He wiped sweat and blood from his forehead. “Hand over the amulet. You’ve bargained everything and lost.”

Alexius sank to his knees as though his strings had been cut. 

Neshaata peered down at him. “How forgiving is your Elder One, Magister?”

“Not,” Rilienus whispered. Strange to hear his voice, thin and frail as a reed, a single sound and not a symphony. “Decidedly not.”

“There’s no point in extending this charade…” Alexius didn’t raise his gaze but only stared at the blackened amulet in his hands. His shoulder hunched. “Felix…”

“It’ll be okay, Father,” Felix said softly, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Gentle, always gentle, and kinder than anyone had a right to be.

“But you’ll die—“

“Everyone dies,” he replied, meeting Dorian’s eyes and nodding. Gratitude. Relief. A hint of sadness. “I’d much rather do it on my terms.”

“Take him,” Cassandra nodded, and the Inquisition’s soldiers stepped forward to take Alexius by the arms, guiding him away. 

“Well,” Dorian breathed. “Now that that’s over with-“

“Who’s that guy?” Sera asked, wrinkling her nose as she nodded towards Rilienus. 

Neshaata glanced at Dorian. “He’s-“

“A Magister,” Fiona spoke up. 

“Not a Magister,” Felix shook his head. “He worked for my father. He’s one of them. The Venatori.”

Rilienus shut his eyes, looking like he might well fall asleep where he was standing. Or like he was waiting for an executioner’s axe. 

“Not anymore,” Neshaata stepped to his side and rested a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. Rilienus blinked, lifting dazed eyes to hers. “Right? You were saying you planned to join the Inquisition, right around the time you were hauling our asses out of the fire. ‘Nesh,’ he said to me. He said, ‘Nesh, my friend, you make a lot of excellent points about stopping demons and saving the world. Please stop spraying blood everywhere when you kill people.’” She grinned, hooking an arm around his neck and ruffling his hair. “Except you said it snootier, huh?”

“Snootier?” he repeated, bewildered. 

She pinched his cheek, grinning. “Adorable. Love this guy. Saved my life twice today. Not a big fan of dogs, apparently, but we can’t all be perfect.” 

“Saved-?” Felix’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

Neshaata bent to whisper in Rilienus’ ear and he straightened in her hold. “Yes, I would like to join the Inquisition, please. That was- yes.” 

“There! Now it’s official!” She thumped him on the back and he stumbled a step. “New recruit! I love my work. Drink? I could use a drink or six. What a shit, weird day.” 

“Glad that’s over with-” Dorian hummed, running a hand through his hair. _Kaffas,_ he could sleep for a century and it wouldn’t be enough.

Cassandra frowned, opening her mouth to speak- then turned as the doors to the throne room were thrown open and lines of Ferelden soldiers marched in to fill the room. 

“-Or not…”

Trumpeters stood in the doorway, the twin mabari on the crest of the Ferelden royal family dangled from their instruments and from the flags being held behind them. A tall, elegant woman wearing a stern expression strode into the room, heading directly for the Grand Enchanter. 

“Queen Anora,” Fiona murmured, wide-eyed. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” the queen of Ferelden beckoned the elven woman with her words. “When I granted your mages safe haven, I thought it was understood that you wouldn’t be turning my people from their homes.”

“Your Majesty,” Fiona folded her hands. “I assure you, we never intended-“

“I’m not concerned with what you intended. I’m concerned with what occurred. You threatened my people.” Her voice carried throughout the hall. “I am rescinding my offer of protection for you and for those that follow you. You will leave Ferelden at once or suffer the consequences.” 

“But we have nowhere to-“ Fiona stared. “We have hundreds. Where would we go?”

Neshaata raised her hand. “We came here for mages. I’d still like to leave with some. Just so we didn’t waste the whole trip, you understand.”

“You would take us with you?” The Grand Enchanter eyed her nervously. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully more generous than what Alexius offered you,” Dorian murmured. “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

“After this shite?” Sera snorted. “Stick them all up a tower and have done.”

Neshaata peeled her gauntlets off one by one and tucked them into her belt. “You help us close the Breach, and you get somewhere to be that isn’t Ferelden.” She glanced up, lazy as a fox. “Copacetic?”

Fiona lifted her chin, straightening with a sense of pride. “We would be honored to join you, Herald of Andraste.”

“Great!” Neshaata winked at Cassandra, “I am on fire today. Guess we should pack everyone up and move them out, eh?”

“We will offer the Inquisition and their allies an escort to the nation’s borders,” Queen Anora studied them. “For your safekeeping, and our own.”

“Less work for our soldiers. Thanks for the hospitality.” Neshaata glanced at Cassandra as she cleared her throat meaningfully. “Thank you,” she repeated, “your Majesty.”

—

Dorian felt the weariness settling into his bones, seeping into the Void where his mana usually resided. The burns on his right side smarted. He’d been nicked in several places, nothing too devastating, but if they weren’t addressed quickly, they’d scar.

He and Neshaata were shuffled out of the hall and brought into the servants’ quarters, Queen Anora graciously giving them leave to use the castle for a few days, until the Venatori’s mess was cleaned up and the Inquisition’s soldiers’ wounds attended to. Arl Teagan had gone to Denerim in the meantime and wasn’t due to return for several weeks.

Rilienus needed healing more than Dorian did, but Cassandra had already ordered him to gather his things from the castle, and the two of them had disappeared down a corridor.

Safe. Rilienus was safe, for the time being. Not exactly free, but alive. Alive and away from people who were content to use and discard him. Safe and alive and not slowly being eaten alive by singing red lyrium in a future he’d not be able to access again. They’d won. By the Maker’s light, they’d won.

The healers worked quickly, plying him with potions and suffusing him with Creation magic. Dorian closed his eyes as his wounds knitted together, his body feeling slightly less ragged from the rejuvenation spells. 

Somewhere through the fog of his cloudy mind, Neshaata was chatting with the recently freed mages cheerily, asking about the Circles and the rebellion and banal questions about magic. 

Dorian hardly listened. Rilienus’ skin smelled the same, like a living library, as though his work scribbling notes and rifling through manuscripts had seeped into his body. His hair felt the same, too: soft curls that fell across his brow, dampened by sweat, begging to be touched. His eyes still gleamed, emerald forests, flecked with gold, with that pool of red. 

Maker, Dorian had missed him. Maker, he’d loved him. Maker, he’d begged for a chance to see him again, to apologize for leaving, to apologize for not working night and day to find him, for abandoning him to the Order while Dorian walked the streets of Minrathous and Asariel.

Rilienus, skin like fine whiskey, lips like velvet, eyes that held a thousand secrets—

“So,” Neshaata intoned. She’d stripped out of her plate and was standing before him in a thin tunic and breeches, dirty and doused with sweat. “That mage. Old friends, eh?”

Dorian looked around the room. The healers had gone off to pack and make preparations of their own, no doubt. He nodded weakly, wishing he’d a glass of wine or a night’s sleep before beginning this conversation.

“Did I do the right thing?” She sank to the bench across from him, watching with those canny, dark eyes. 

“Allying with the mages? Confronting Alexius? Running headfirst through time with me?” Dorian smiled slightly, tilting his head. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, it has.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Any of it. All of it. And.” Neshaata lifted her brows. “You trust him? Because I stuck my neck out on this one. I need to know.”

Dorian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before meeting her eyes. “Rilienus… He’s always been focused on surviving. Life’s been about as unkind to him as it can be.” He closed his eyes, rolling his neck, stretching his aching muscles. “The only times where he’s been turned from that goal—to live another day, no matter the cost—is when it came to me. Do I trust him? I’ve seen into the depths of his spirit. That trick we pulled in the throne room? I gave him equal control over my mana. He could’ve taken it for himself and left me a drooling simpleton.” He sat upon his cot, leaning against the wall behind him. “The short answer is yes. I do trust him. Whether that makes me mad… I suppose we shall see, given time.”

“Yeah…” She heaved a sigh. “Time and I are going to be on sticky terms for a while.” She rubbed her shoulder, rotating it slowly. “I’m glad he didn’t suck your mana dry or eat your brain or… whatever it is that would have done. If I have to be stranded in time, there’s no one else I’d rather do it with.”

“Ha!” Dorian laughed weakly, closing his eyes again, tipping his head back against the stone. “Let’s avoid that particular diversion for a while, yes? It was exhausting.” Dorian opened a single eye, just a slit, to look at her. “Can I make a request?”

She yawned, stretching her arms. “You’re going to.”

“I am.” He closed his eyes again. He could sleep here, against the wall, given a few minutes of silence. “My history with Rilienus… Such relations aren’t exactly accepted for one in my position. I don’t care so much about that anymore, but if my father learns of it, he could be in danger. I’d like to keep it quiet if you don’t mind.”

He heard her shift, sighing. “He kept that amulet from doing what it was supposed to. He fought at my side and had my back when he didn’t have to. He helped you get us out of there. But we don’t know what he’s done for this cult or the Elder One. I’m going to have to answer for this one to Cassandra and Leliana and Cullen and Josie. The fact that he hangs on your words like a loyal hound is good for them to know. You see that?”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’ve kept this secret for over ten years, thinking I’d never see him again. He’s alive now. He’s alive and he’s here and he’s dropped everything to return to me. The thought of losing him—“ Dorian frowned, coughing to clear his throat from its stinging. “Tell them if you must. Our work is more important than any one of us, yes? But please, ask for their discretion.”

She patted his knee lightly. “I’ll see what I can do.” She hesitated, then, “For what it’s worth? I really hope you don’t have to lose him again, Dorian. I hope that what I saw today - that guy. The nutty selfless one. I hope that part is bigger than the survival part. Survival instincts… I’ve known a lot of people who’d do anything to get by. They’re pretty changeable. You know?”

“Love is less so.” Dorian pulled out a chain from under his robes. The ring he’d made when they’d promised to spend their lives together. “Makes people do all manner of insane, ill-advised, desperate things. I prefer the madman myself. I hope what we saw today wasn’t a fluke. A faded memory of the man I loved, so long ago.”

“It got us back here, that memory.” She shrugged. “So maybe it’s less faded than you thought.” Her foot scraped on the stone. “You want to talk about it? Or about Alexius?”

“Maker, not now. Sleep,” Dorian exhaled. “I want to sleep for a year. Chasing you through time is quite the endeavor, my dear Herald.”

“How ‘bout a day? I’d like to put some distance between us and that queen before she gets salty.”

“I’ll take it,” Dorian said, shimmying down the wall and back onto the cot. “I’ll take it,” he repeated, his eyes closing as he rolled to his side, away from the door. “Wake me when we’re to depart.”

“Sure,” she laughed. “Hey, Dorian?”

“Mmm?” He grunted, not opening his eyes.

“Real nice work out there today.” 

“You too, my friend,” he mumbled against his elbow. “You too.”


	6. sunken from the healthy breath of morn

## Rilienus 

The cart bumped every few feet. Whether this was due to the complete lack of management of the road, or the nags who drew it, or the cart itself which smelled - frankly - of sheep shit, Rilienus couldn’t be entirely sure. Some combination thereof, no doubt. The boy driving the cart was little older than Rilienus had been when he’d first been sent to the Order; eleven or twelve at most, with a sunburned nose and dark circles under his eyes. Silent as a freshly dug grave, slanting nervous glances at Rilienus from time to time. 

Somewhere ahead, Dorian was riding alongside the Inquisitor. Rilienus had heard his laughter when they’d broken camp that morning. And the night before. Four days. 

Dorian had said they weren’t finished. He’d said once they were safe and Alexius had been foiled… Yet - not so much as a word. 

He reached back to stabilize the crate of fragile glass alembics as the cart bumped again. It was becoming rote. As was the company of the boy. What had they said his name was? He’d have paid more attention if he’d expected to be spending every waking hour of his days with the child. 

The only rational explanation he could come up with was that Dorian regretted his words. They’d been in a life or death situation, tensions high, the chances of survival extraordinarily low. Oh, Dorian had meant it at the time, certainly. He’d meant what he said at the time in the Order as well. But now. Now what? Perhaps Rilienus was only meant to be loved in harrowing situations. 

He was used to being alone. For the decade before Dorian, he’d created a world that consisted of himself and his plans and his music. And in the decade since, he’d learned that the world had little to offer him beyond that. Oh, frivolity, certainly. Moments of gilded pleasure, eclipsed by reality as soon as they were touched. 

What was he _doing_ here? The world hadn’t changed. It was still the same pitiful, swollen, tainted place it had always been. Still full of liars and thieves and the hateful. Still corrupt down to its Tainted tunnels. There was nothing - nothing in it that he wanted to save. Nothing worth keeping. Nothing- Nothing except _him_. 

Dorian. Weeks of his life, out of a lifetime of betrayals and cruelties and disappointments and horrors. Less than twelve weeks. Days and nights that stood out like gleaming gems in refuse. The curve of his smile. The warmth of his touch. The sound of his voice as they worked and kissed and planned and promised. 

Maker, why wouldn’t he even _speak_ to him? ‘Postponing the inevitable’. Had Rilienus misunderstood what he meant by that? What was inevitable? He’d thought Dorian had meant them- them, together again. Another false assumption? Rilienus had gone from one cult to another, without question. What did it matter? He didn’t believe in either of their causes. Survival. Revenge. Love. Those were his guiding principles. Dorian had asked him, in that darkened stair, to join his Inquisition, to help him save the world- And if it meant being with him, working with him, finding a way back to the gilded morning light and the lull of his breath as he slumbered, pillowed on Rilienus’ chest, then by all the gods - old and new, true and false - he would swear whatever oaths that Inquisition wanted. 

And he had. He’d sworn allegiance to Andraste’s Herald on pain of death. The qunari had clapped him on the back. And then… nothing. The Seeker had spent more time in his vicinity than Dorian since they’d left Redcliffe, asking him about the cult, their time in the dark future, the alchemical tools she’d helped him pack into crates to bring with them, his skills and interests and how he could be put to best use. Cassandra. She’d ride back to talk to him again soon. Ridiculous that he was so starved for attention now that he was looking forward to _that_. She might have been suspicious of him, oh yes, she was, but she was also forthright and unafraid. 

She was one of a handful who weren’t scared of him.

He could feel them staring at him. Soldiers who knew nothing of him other than the nation he hailed from and the rumors that had swelled around him based on whatever half-truths they’d gleaned. Mages who’d given themselves into Alexius’ ‘protection’ without blinking, and had given themselves over to the Herald just as quickly. Sheep looking for a shepherd and judging him for being a wolf. 

He lifted a brow, turning to meet the boy’s fleeting gaze. “Can I help you?” Common. What an atrocious language. Maker’s breath, the child was looking at him as though he might have just barbecued and eaten a kitten. 

“No, ser.”

Rilienus narrowed his eyes as the boy hurriedly looked back to the horses. “You’re a bit young to be scampering about with rebels, aren’t you?”

“No, ser. I’m an apprentice.”

Whatever that meant to the Southern Circles, Rilienus was hesitant to hazard a guess. “Oh, yes? In what?”

“In…” Hazel eyes darted to and away from him again. The cart lurched. “In magic.”

He was beginning to regret this line of inquiry. “Yes, I gathered that much; what sort. If you’re an apprentice, you’re pursuing a specialty in…?” he lifted his brows. 

“Specialty?”

Rilienus pressed his thumb to his temple. This. This was what the Inquisition planned to seal the giant hole in the sky with? “What were you studying, before you tottered into revolution?”

“I was preparing for my Harrowing.”

“Yes, and what is that?”

The boy- what was his name? William? Clarence? - frowned dubiously. “You go into the Fade and resist a demon.”

Rilienus tilted his head, peering at the profile. “What sort of demon?”

“Don’t know.”

“Then how do you know how to resist it?”

“You just have to not let it possess you.”

“But if you don’t know what it is or what it wants, how do you prepare to do that?”

“Pray.”

Rilienus squinted. “I apologize. Allow me to clarify this for myself. You’ve been… praying. So that you can go into the Fade and resist something about which you know nothing.”

The boy frowned. “I have to.”

“ _Why_ in the Void would you have to do such a thing?”

“If we don’t pass the Harrowing, we’re made Tranquil.”

“Excuse me?” His voice was too high, too sharp. A couple of the soldiers nearest to them looked over. Rilienus gritted his teeth. Harrowing, indeed; it sounded Blighted harrowing. “Do you know anything about demons at all? Or any spirits?”

“I know to avoid them.”

“Yes, yes. An excellent first step. But since that’s a sheer impossibility given our particular milieu.” He cracked his knuckles. “We will start with wraiths, as they are among the most common.”

“Wraiths,” the boy repeated.

“Yes. The shadows. Scavengers, really, but the trouble is that people see what they want to see, especially in dreams. So a creature that can appear to be something else has its own dangers which far exceed any ability to deal damage. Did you have a name, by the way? I seem to have misplaced it.”

The boy’s name was Thomas. Or Thom, as he liked to be called by his friends who he brought along with him that night as they sat down to eat beside the campfire. Friends Rilienus didn’t even bother asking for the names of. Eight of them, all in various stages of disrepair, all under the age of sixteen, most of them wearing the same unsightly uniform of whatever Circle they’d hailed from. It hardly mattered. It was a blessed relief sitting on something that didn’t attempt to jar his spine every few minutes. 

“Ultimately,” he continued, his bowl of stew sitting forgotten at his feet, “the point is that if you are able to discern the origin of the spirit from before it was distorted, you’re in a much better position to resist it. And may even be able to guide it back to its place in the ecosystem of the Fade. Better for everyone, yes? And saves you the trouble of having to fight the nasty things. Especially in the Fade. Always try to avoid approaching an enemy in their natural habitat.” 

“So you’ve actually talked to demons?”

“Spirits. Yes. On a number of occasions. Oh, there are quite a few that can’t summon enough words to string a sentence together, but even those are fascinating in their own rights; they have a purity of purpose unlike anything that exists in the waking world. A person’s motivations can shift over the course of an argument or a kiss or a battle. A spirit’s - or a demon’s - remain unaltered; so long as you know what their drive is, you can always outsmart them. Which leads me back to wraiths-” Rilienus steepled his fingers, “What makes wraiths different from other spirits?”

“A word, Rilienus?” There he was. After four days. Beautiful, wearing far too many belts and buckles, but beautiful all the same. Brows drawn. Eyes—had he ever seen such dark circles underneath them? And the color of his skin, paler, caramel tinged with gray. No kohl around his eyes. Mouth a thin line. Maker’s breath, Dorian was a sight. 

“Yes, of course.” He stood swiftly, sweeping a glance over his tiny assembly. “Meditation at dawn tomorrow, yes?” He stepped after Dorian as he moved away from the fire. “I wondered when I might-” He cleared his throat. “I- am trying very hard not to make assumptions.” 

“Assumptions? What assumptions have you been trying to avoid in particular?” Dorian led him swiftly away from the campfire, through the camp of mages and soldiers and spies, into a nearby copse of trees, away from the others. He had to rush to keep up with his steps; despite Dorian’s pallor, he seemed incredibly eager to be away from the Inquisition’s camp. 

Perhaps he’d been wrong after all. Jumped too quickly to the wrong conclusions. Other explanations. There were likely a number he simply hadn’t thought of. “It doesn’t matter now. How can I be of service?”

“There have been whispers that you’ve been giving lectures on demonology to the young apprentices,” Dorian sighed, leaning against a tree. He looked as exhausted as Rilienus had felt, after their excursion in Redcliffe. “I caught a bit of it there at the end. We have to be careful, Ril. About what we share with them, how much, and when. Do you understand?”

“ _That’s_ what you wanted to talk to me about.” He looked down at his hands. “Alright. What am I permitted to discuss, Dominus? An outline would be-“ He bit off his words, searching Dorian’s expression. “Sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over; have you been eating?”

Dorian looked away, before allowing himself to slide against the rough bark of the tree into the dirt. He stared at the back of Dorian’s hands; what little black polish still covered his nails was hopelessly chipped. “I’ve not had much of an appetite, no,” Dorian sighed, his lids heavy over gray eyes. “And sleep has largely evaded me, of late.”

He knelt beside him, twisting one of his rings and gathering a small pouch of spiced dates from its enchanted compartment. “Eat. Wine?”

“No, _amatus_ ,” he said softly, taking the offered food. “Probably not on an empty stomach. Have you been… settling in well?”

“Apparently not.” He foraged again, emerging with a sack of salted almonds and a small wine skin. He took a long gulp, then whistled softly refilling the emptied space with water from the air. “There. Hydrate.” He placed his offerings to Dorian’s side like a pilgrim, folding his hands over his knee. Rilienus flexed his senses lightly, tasting the hint of ozone that thrummed inside of Dorian; his mana had returned then, at least in part. “You’re troubled,” he murmured, watching him carefully. 

“Perhaps,” Dorian said, palming a handful of almonds. “I’d meant to wait until I was feeling myself again before coming to speak to you. We’ve so much we need to say. I didn’t want to mangle it. I’m sorry for avoiding you. It’s been dreadful, knowing you were so close, but being afraid to close the distance.”

“...why should you be afraid of that?” he asked, hating the hesitation in his voice. 

Dorian chuckled weakly, looking up to him. “I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and push you away again. You can come closer, you know, if you don’t mind your robes getting dirty.”

Rilienus swallowed past the tightness in his throat and the sudden heat that threatened the back of his eyes, settling in against Dorian’s side. The roots were an uneven seat and the tree had ants crawling on it. He hadn’t felt better in days. “I thought you might have been regretting- things.” He fingered the bracelet on his wrist, unbuttoning and buttoning the little pearl that clasped the well-used silencing ward. “I couldn’t very well blame you if you did. Or do. Or.” He frowned up at the branches between them and the evening sky. 

“I have regrets. Many regrets, an ocean of them. Bringing you back from the Void isn’t one.” Dorian let his hand rest in Rilienus’ lap, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Do you regret coming here? Joining the Inquisition?” 

“No.” Not here, not with Dorian leaning against him. He traced the edges of Dorian’s fingers, then collected Dorian’s hand and pressed his thumbs to the mound of his lover’s palm, stretching his ink-stained fingers. “Not yet.”

“Hmm,” Dorian sighed, closing his eyes and entwining their fingers. “When we were in the Order, I thought for a certainty that wherever we ended up would have considerably more sidewalks and considerably fewer goats. But I suppose all the most important bits are here, yes? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Dorian’s head. He sighed into the scent of him. “The place we’re going. This… Haven. I don’t suppose there are fewer goats there?”

“Not hardly,” Dorian laughed, nestling against him like they’d never been parted. “It’s cold, too. Dreadfully cold.”

“It’s already dreadfully cold,” he murmured against Dorian’s scalp. “I wrapped my feet in a druffalo hide last night. Freshly tanned. I was rather hoping that the smell might kill me before the cold did.”

“What a terrible travesty it didn’t. I really wanted all of my work getting you back to go to waste.” Dorian lifted his head, looking up at him. Face lined, tired, but warm, his touches gentle. “You’re really here, aren’t you? This is real? Not a dream? Sometimes I’m not certain I can tell the differences between the waking world and my nightmares anymore, but this… The first time in a long while that I’ve hoped something hasn’t been a trick of the Fade.”

“I’m fairly certain I’m real,” he lifted Dorian’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “You asked me that before, though. Maybe I’m simply an old hallucination. If that’s the case, I’m terribly upset I was relegated to the Void for so long.”

“As am I,” Dorian exhaled. “Like I was saying, we need to be careful. There are plenty here who hardly trust me and you were, in their eyes, working for the people who started this entire mess. Mages terrify people here. And I’m guessing you’ve just had your eyes opened to the shoddiness of their education. We can show them a few skills, particularly mending and healing, can create devices for them, but they can’t know about the power we wield. Not until they trust us. And no blood magic. Absolutely none. There’s no quicker way to get a sunburst tattooed onto your forehead here than blood magic. This isn’t Minrathous. We aren’t in the Imperium. We’re barely tolerated at all, my love. We need to stay alive if we’re to help them. And to stay alive, they can’t know everything we can do.”

“It isn’t as though I’m teaching them incantations to summon charybdis. Have you _heard_ of this- this ‘Harrowing’ nonsense? If they’re to go subjugate themselves out of their element, they need information.”

“I have. It’s dreadful. Barbaric.” Dorian ran his thumb along the curve of his fingers, nestling against his shoulder again. “I wasn’t intending to do nothing. Grand Enchanter Fiona is in charge of their training. She’s a practical woman. Was a Warden once. Cassandra thinks she’d been enthralled when she’d accepted Alexius’ agreement; she was acting oddly when she met with Neshaata the first time. We can tell her how training young mages was handled in Tevinter, but we should wait until _after_ the woman and some of her followers will believe we have their best interests at heart.” 

“They’re afraid, Dorian.” Rilienus tucked his chin over Dorian’s head again. “I thought, at first, that it was simply of me. But they’re all afraid. Of themselves. You can smell it on them. You know as well as I do, with the Veil as it is, if we don’t manage that fear somehow… Something needs to be done, sooner rather than later, or we’ll have more to deal with than someone’s suspicious mind.”

“I’ll speak with the Herald and the Grand Enchanter in the morning then, _amatus_.” Dorian folded himself against Rilienus’ chest. “You’re right, of course. Does that suit?”

“Partially.” He curved his arm around Dorian’s shoulders and squeezed, gathering him closer. “Is it alright if I go ahead and teach them the focusing meditation in the morning? Or is that also too forward?”

“Good luck getting them to sit still.” Dorian chuckled, leaning up to look at him. “The southern mages will probably thank you heartily for keeping the children occupied and out of trouble. I’ll let Fiona know that’s what you’re doing, alright? But we can’t make enemies here. Maker knows we have few enough friends.”

“Ah, ‘friends’. What are those?” Those dark circles- He thumbed them gently, studying the liquid depths of starlit silver. Was there anything in any realm more beautiful than his eyes? Rilienus let himself be drawn by them, his heart swelling in his chest as he brushed his lips over Dorian’s, tasting the latent sweetness of the dates and the salt of the almonds. “Stay with me tonight. I’ll guard your dreams.”

“Are you certain?” Dorian looked up sharply. “It’s not too soon?”

“Too _soon_ ?” Rilienus stared at him. “How could it _possibly_ be too soon?”

“I—“ Dorian sighed, pulling away. “It’s been a long time, Ril.”

It was an effort not to laugh. “I am well aware.” 

“I’ve been—it’s—“ Dorian couldn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t mistake my reticence for a lack of affection. I still feel the same. I only--“

Away. He’d been so close, just as he was meant to be, and then- He touched Dorian’s chin, bending to catch Dorian’s gaze again. “Tell me. Whatever it is, tell me. I promise, it will be better than what I come up with on my own.”

“I’ve been alone for a long time, _mon rossigno_ l.” Dorian frowned. “I’m not sure I remember how not to be.”

“I’ve terrible news for you, _mon aube_. You’re not alone right now.”

Dorian’s shoulders softened at the words, his body curling around him. “If you’re certain. Why don’t you join me instead? I’d imagine my appointments are a touch nicer than yours.”

“There you go imagining things again. Me, your tent- what else have you invented, Bright Star?” Rilienus brushed his fingers over Dorian’s shoulders, stroking down his back. “I’ve been wanting to ask,” he whispered, kissing the corner of his lips. “What is the meaning of all these assorted buckles? Did you run out of fabric?”

“I should ask you why you’ve taken to wearing all black.” Dorian laughed, smiling more warmly. “You look like a giant bat, not a nightingale, _amatus_.”

“I found that the more stark I looked, the less likely they were to suggest I don their ridiculous uniforms.” Rilienus nudged his nose, searching his gaze. “I am here for you. Because of you. And until you send me away again, I will continue to be here.” He brushed his thumb over his cheek. “As much or as little as you’d like. If only you let me know what it is you want.”

“Send you away again?” Dorian cupped his cheek, running his fingers through the stubble on his face. “I’ve no intention of that. No. Stay with me. Help me to put the world back to rights. At least… as much as it ever was. And then, perhaps, we can be free.”

“What is ‘back to rights’ exactly? Because I’ve not felt free, not an instant, outside of your arms in that room for those weeks. So what is it?” he asked. “They made me swear an oath to the Divine on the Sunburst Throne; some rot about magic serving mankind that they’ve apparently entirely missed the point of. Loyalty to an absent leader of a mistaken passage of an old story. What’s the point of this thing you’re doing, besides the sky?” 

“Searching for redemption. For Tevinter. For Alexius. For myself,” Dorian said, softly. 

“Alexius made his own choices. The Imperium’s past saving. And you-” He tightened his hold on Dorian. “What could you possibly require redemption for?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just something I need to do; it’s what feels right, more so than toeing the line until I can take my father’s seat in the Magisterium. If I’m even offered it, now.” He ran a hand across Rilienus’ brow, as though he was trying to smooth the lines. “I intend to stay until the Breach is sealed. Until there’s some modicum of stability.” Dorian turned to kiss his temple, his touch feather-light. “You need not stay. I’d be elated if you did. Perhaps we can create a bit of freedom for ourselves again, amid the chaos.”

“I’ve just told you I’m not going anywhere, not again, not unless you want me to.” He tilted, catching Dorian’s lips with his own. Need not stay. Had the man lost his senses? Of course he needed to stay. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he feel that need like a visceral line between them? Or was it simply that Dorian couldn’t assess his own magnetism, couldn’t taste the gray-lilac-velvet of his own gravity? Rilienus licked at his lips, breathing him in along the slick line of his tongue, stroking up his side. “Do you want me to go?”

“Yes, in a sense,” Dorian said, smiling widely, “To my tent. Quietly. After everyone’s gone to bed. If it would please you.”

“Ah, you can't risk being seen with the dangerous deviant,” Rilienus nudged him back against the tree. “How the tables have turned.”

“I suppose they have, haven’t they?” Dorian smiled against his skin. “We should make an attempt at discretion. I’ve been writing letters to all of my contacts in the Senate. Father will know where I am soon. I don’t want his eyes to turn towards you.”

“Trying to protect me, Altus?” he murmured, nibbling at his lower lip. “You should be more concerned about protecting yourself. I’m a convict, after all.” He lifted a brow, tipping Dorian’s head back, “Casteless. What would they say?”

“I’m not worried about what they’ll say. Just that they’ll try to hurt you.”

“Many have tried.” His lips quirked, eyes narrowing. “Let them come. Let them come and test my teeth. They’ll find I’ve sharpened them substantially.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “You’ve fanned that spark of rebellion into a veritable inferno. Glorious.”

“You’ve no idea,” he tugged at Dorian’s lip. “You’re welcome to test them yourself, if you like.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” Dorian chuckled, offering his hand. “Will you help me up? I’m afraid that otherwise, I’ll fall asleep right here.”

“You should.” Beautiful and exhausted. Poor, pretty, put upon prince. Rilienus sighed, rising, and tugged him to his feet. “Take these,” he tucked the little cloth bags of dates and almonds into Dorian’s belt pouch without waiting for permission, then clipped the wineskin to his belt, “and drink this. I’ve watered it down. I could add a tincture of prophet’s laurel, if you like. Improve your circulation.” 

“Can you help with nightmares?” Dorian asked softly, running his hand over the gifts.

Selfish. Selfish to think that any of it had to do with him when Dorian was struggling. Of course he was. He felt so deeply. He always had. Rilienus bowed his head, slipping a chain up and over it and holding it out. A simple glass pendant, carefully inscribed. “Wear it. It gets stronger the more you use it. And I’ll ward you tonight. Just in case.”

“Do you not need it?” Dorian clasped his fingers around the pendant. “I don’t wish to take it from you, _mon rossignol_. I’d imagine your sleeping hasn’t improved much over time.”

“Let’s take care of you for the moment, and let me worry about myself.” He kissed Dorian’s forehead lightly. “For once, do as I say.”

“As you will, Dominus,” Dorian murmured, leaning on his staff more heavily than Rilienus would’ve liked. “I believe it will be an early night for me. That new trick you’ve picked up—where you slip in and out of the shadows…” Dorian smiled as they reached the edge of the trees. “Maybe you don’t need to wait for everyone to slumber before joining me?”

“I’ll be close behind, _mon aube_ , until the dawn takes me from you.”

“Then let’s hope the sun decides to sleep in tomorrow morning.” Dorian took his hand and kissed it, velvet lips, some of the sparkle returning into his eyes. “Maker knows I could.”

“You can sleep in the cart with me, if you’d like,” he stroked the side of Dorian’s back. “We can stuff cotton wadding in your nose to protect you from the stench of sheep.”

“No, no, can’t have that. Too bumpy, makes me feel ill. You really should learn to ride, _mon rossignol_. We can’t take the carts everywhere.” Dorian nodded, apparently adding another item to his mental checklist, smiling. “Another task to complete when we reach what passes for civilization. I’ll buy you a horse when we arrive at Haven, if you don’t have the coin; a sweet, slow, gentle mare, the kind they use to teach children. Before you know it, you’ll be flying across the countryside.”

“I have a sweet, slow, gentle stallion,” he kissed Dorian’s cheek. “And I am content.”

“Slow,” Dorian shook his head. “Don’t go looking for trouble, my love. I’ll try and stay up for you, but… if not, help yourself to anything you wish while I’m asleep. The wards to my tent will be down.”

“As if I couldn’t pick my way through your wards given time.” He squeezed Dorian’s fingers. “Go. Lie down. I’ll be along and I’ll raise your wards once I’m inside. I won’t leave you unprotected.”

Dorian turned back to kiss him, his fingers locked around Rilienus’ hands. A gentle thing, too short, the kind of everyday touch between old lovers. Not out of haste. Tenderness. Fondness. A touch made with the assumption that they’d be together again by the end of the day. Dorian’s lips curled back into that slight smile as he walked back towards the camp alone. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but it seemed his skin had gained back a bit of that copper hue. His back straighter. His steps lighter and livelier. A beautiful thing, to be a comfort to him. To be needed. Wanted. Loved, again. He would keep that. He would find a way, somehow, this time.

He watched Dorian disappear back into the quieting buzz of the camp until his shadow slipped across the side of a tent and disappeared past. A couple things, just a few; his satchel and the druffalo hide he’d traded for the day before. The fact that he was able to walk through an entire camp of so-called Enchanters, skimming the Veil, without raising so much as an eyebrow was only slightly less appalling than the Harrowing business. Utterly untaught. Abysmal. And far more dangerous in this ignorant state than they would have been with a little common sense training. 

He tracked the resonance of his talisman until he found Dorian’s tent, slipping past the hide and canvas. Dorian was in the midst of removing his armor, buckle by buckle. By hand. 

“Ril?” he asked quietly.

Rilienus smiled, slipping through the seams in the air. He scanned the unwoken wards and whistled them awake, watching the shimmer of bellsong satin touch and fade, then sank to his knees beside Dorian, laying the druffalo hide on his bedroll. “I brought a gift.” He slipped his satchel off over his head and shifted closer, running his fingers down the line of Dorian’s neck and shoulder. “Tension,” he murmured. “You need a massage. And a milk bath. And a long soak in honey and oil.” He skimmed his fingertips up into Dorian’s hair, working the tight muscles at the base of his skull. “We can deal with the first now.” He rested his forehead to the back of Dorian’s head, working the knots out with his thumbs. “How long does it take you to get into and out of that monstrosity every day?”

“You’re here.” Dorian turned to embrace him, resting his head for a moment against the plane of Rilienus’ shoulder. “Did you mean this particular monstrosity, or were you hoping for an estimated average? Twenty to forty-five minutes, based on my timepiece. I enjoy the simple monotony of the routine. My morning meditation, as it were.”

Dorian snapped and the tent seemed to expand, the walls stretching to become a modestly sized bedchamber. The bedroll was replaced with a simple wooden bed, piled high with thick blankets. There was a desk in the corner, parchment and ink pots and quills neatly arranged on its surface, several sealed and addressed letters piled in the corner. A small bookshelf with a row of books, all the same colored leather. Dorian’s grimoires; the make hadn’t changed in ten years. An upper shelf was holding goblets, one covered with opals that Rilienus recognized was a gift from Dorian’s mother, and bottles of wine and liquor. A large wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed, ornately carved with the Pavus insignia, a two-headed serpent resting on the plumage of a peacock.

“My appointments,” Dorian said, smirking, “are the best in the camp, I assure you. Don’t tell anyone, _amatus_ ; it can be our secret.”

“Who do you imagine I would tell?”

“Your flock of ducklings, perhaps?” Dorian chuckled, moving from the floor to the bed. “You didn’t expect a ranked Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle to sleep on the cold ground, did you?”

“I expected someone who is neither sleeping nor eating to conserve their mana. Little wonder you’re so exhausted.”

“I require at least a modicum of creature comforts. Speaking of which—I’m so very glad you’re here.”

“Are you?” He kissed Dorian’s cheek. Warmer now. Closer to the healthy caramel he’d grown so fond of. Still too pale. Still too dark beneath the eyes. “It’s difficult to discern with all this,” he traced the curve of his smile with his thumb. “I’m a creature of comfort, am I? I did wonder what my role was supposed to be in this fiasco.”

“You’re more than that, as you well know.” Dorian took his hand, pressing his lips to Rilienus’ knuckles with a smile. “But your presence improves my general feeling of contentment, it’s true. You’re a solace, a balm for my homesickness, a tether to calmer times.” 

“Calmer times?” Rilienus stifled a manic laugh. “Perhaps you remember those weeks differently than I.” Weeks, he reminded himself. Weeks among years. Weeks when he’d seen light dancing on calm clear waters just out of reach, if only he could make it far enough to touch them. Everything had changed. Everything, or nothing. Dorian had gone and the same dull dark had continued. A tunnel through the stone, shadows without end. And yet- here he was. Dorian, wearing a pale echo of his bright energy like a sun washed cloak. Somehow. Somehow, out of everything. How many weeks this time? How many days did he have, like flower petals, to touch and wonder at before Dorian was torn away by the winds again? 

“Some of the best of my life. I was so sure of myself, then. So certain.” Dorian ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I thought I could shape the world into something more palatable, something kinder, with my will alone.”

“Patterns.” They were relentless. Layers upon layers, patchwork, the dreams of the long dead holding the world together. Rilienus soaked in the sight of him. Sunlight, even dimmed. Sunlight and shifting skies. “The longer they exist, the more difficult they are to unravel.” No other way, he thought. No other way than to burn them all to the ground. Cull the corruptions and begin again. Even if he wasn’t there to see it when the first of the new growth began. But he could see in Dorian’s eyes that his lover didn’t see that, or perhaps he did and didn’t want to. Rilienus skimmed his fingers over the buckles and straps that remained of Dorian’s armor. “How long have you had this piece?”

“A few months. I’ve more in a similar style. Made as soon as I realized where I needed to go,” Dorian said, motioning towards the chest at the bed’s foot. “Help me from it, then, my love?”

Rilienus hummed low, touching the threads that met at each nexus of the beastly thing and urging the vibrations to soften their bonds. Resilient, filled with Dorian’s resolutions. Day by day, concentrating his will as he meditated on them, binding himself into place. Anchoring himself. Against what sea? What storm was pushing him? Strange, that he felt like he knew him after so short and long a time; he knew the taste of Dorian’s mana and the underpinnings of who he was and the future he was meant for- but what had come between? What had hardened him, dimmed him, sharpened him? The threads gave way and Rilienus gently nudged the leather and armored cloth so that it fell apart with a rattle. He took a knee, resting his forehead to Dorian’s hip, and unbuckled the greaves by hand. “I missed you,” he whispered. “I tried to convince myself I didn’t, for a time, but it wasn’t any use. If I’d known- if I’d known that you would want me still, I would have torn the stones until I found you again.”

Dorian tried in vain to smooth the coils of curls that fell across Rilienus’ brow and around his ears. “It’s alright. It is. I clung to hope that morphed slowly to despair and then anger. But it melted away almost instantly the moment I saw you again. You’re here and that’s what matters.”

“Yes,” he kissed Dorian’s hip; tender warm soft beneath his lips. Here. They were both here. Across and through time and back again. He set the greaves aside and eased Dorian to the bed, drawing off his boots. “That’s what matters.” Threads and buckles and cloth and clasps. He peeled them free, unlayering him, as though the act of undressing Dorian might somehow reveal to him all the thousands of things he had missed in the years between. “Rest,” he whispered against Dorian’s knee, kissing down his shin as he rubbed gentle circles at his ankle and heel. “Lie back and rest. Let me try to take care of you.”

“As you will, Rilienus,” Dorian murmured, flicking the covers off his bed and sliding on top of the sheets that lay beneath layers and layers of thick woolen blankets. “Wake me at dawn, before you leave?”

“I’ll come back after meditation.” He followed him to the bed, taking Dorian’s feet in his lap to smooth away the tension with his thumbs. “I’ll bring you breakfast. If you sleep. Sleep, and let the Fade only touch you with gentle breezes.”

“I love you,” Dorian said, his eyes open only a small sliver. “I love you,” he repeated, his shoulders visibly beginning to loosen. “My nightingale. My wayward love. You’ve come home to roost again.”

“I’m home,” Rilienus murmured quietly. Yes. The only one. The only place he’d found he belonged. If he could have climbed into Dorian’s heart and drawn the curtains, he could have slept right there for an eternity. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours, _amatus_ ,” Dorian’s voice was groggy, his eyes shut gently, but the smile that curled his lips was wider than he’d seen it in a decade. “Until my last breath.”

“Until the stars fall and I make your crown from the diamonds, my love. Until then. No less.”


	7. Dream all night without a stir

## Rilienus

He watched as Dorian’s features smoothed and softened, working carefully muscle by muscle until the man melted beneath his hands. Until Rilienus’ hands and shoulders ached from the effort, as though he’d taken Dorian’s tension into himself. He felt the tug of the talisman resting over Dorian’s heart as it roused to protect him. Nightmares. Which ones threatened him? What dreams haunted him? He tucked the blankets around Dorian more snugly, doffing his robes and sliding in alongside him. Skin to skin. His dawn. His warm dawn. 

New. New and familiar. Light breaking through unfathomable dark. He curled against Dorian’s side, wrapping his arms around him, and pillowed his cheek on his chest to listen to the sound of his breath and the thrum of his heart. His gentle, formidable heart. 

He slept in starts as he was wont to do, rousing with the talisman to trace wards across Dorian’s skin and soothe him back to the soft lap of tide pools and steam baths. When he felt the new day in his shoulders, he slipped from the bed and donned the layers of his robes and the straps of his stave sheaths, then slipped past wards and soldiers. 

Meditation… He didn’t so much meditate as hover over the now twelve youths who seemed largely unable to do so much as sit still, let alone fully concentrate. There was one girl who showed immediate promise; a ruddy-faced young thing with dark hair that sprung untamed around her face like a void storm. But by the end of the hour, he’d managed to at least get them to sit quietly, which was a mercy. 

He watched the sky’s colors turn from gray to slightly lighter gray. Maker’s breath- how could anyone bear to live in this miserable place? Mud clung wet and cold to his heels. A drizzle made his robes heavy on his skin. He collected the camp breakfast in his pockets - hard rolls and bean stew - eschewing the offer of some sort of watered down beer from the grizzled fellow by the fire. 

More and more, the night’s low buzz was beginning to fade in favor of chatter and clanking and the breaking down of the first tents. He slipped through the morning’s rising din and the familiar pins and needles of the path alongside the world, letting his mana reassert the wards on Dorian’s tent as he stepped inside. 

Dorian was still ensconced in his blankets, bundled further if that was possible. Rilienus smiled, tapping the dweomer on the small kettle by Dorian’s desk and setting out his collected comestibles. Cups… He peered through the shelves, returning with two glasses and dusted his morning fuel into the bottom of each, pouring the freshly boiled water over top of the ground beans and herbs and spices. The aroma was biting, as always. 

To watch Dorian sleep was a gift. Rilienus sighed, tucking his hand into his sleeve to hold the hot glass, sipping the kava. To watch him simply sleep again, and dream sweetly. He needed rest. Hours of it. Days. Rilienus finished half the cup, delaying the inevitable, before he finally crossed to the bed. “Dorian.” He folded over top of him like a blanket, kissing his shoulder. “My dawn, the day is here; it’s time to rise.” He kissed down Dorian’s shoulder, peeling the blanket back inch by inch. “I’ve brought you kava and what passes for breakfast in this godsforsaken wasteland.”

Dorian began to stir slowly, a great feline roused from slumber. He wrapped his arms tightly around Rilienus, eyes still closed, his breath stale from sleep. “No,” he mumbled, burying his head against Rilienus’ shoulder. His grip tightened as he rubbed his cheek against Rilienus’ skin. “No rising. No breakfast. It’s twilight, can’t you see? Back to bed with you.”

“It’s twilight in Rivain all day this time of year,” he murmured against Dorian’s ear. “You can watch the moons crossing each other’s paths, but you never see the sun. The wisps fill the air like fog.” To be in his arms again, to feel his strength binding him in place as firm as any spell. “We could go and sing them into tiny tempests, breathe the incense, and listen to the ancient sigh of the waves.”

“Stay here, with me, under the covers.” Dorian turned and rolled them both onto their sides, drawing the blankets up their shoulders with a flex of his fingers. “It’s warm and you smell like morning rain and fresh grass and I’ve missed you.”

Rilienus sighed against him, wrapping his arms around Dorian. “ _You’re_ warm. You’re always so warm, lit with your internal sun.” He kissed Dorian’s cheek, rubbing his lips against the scratch of his morning scruff. “I always liked you like this, first thing, before you had a chance to piece yourself together into art. All your stunning imperfections.”

“And you’re always sweetest in the morning,” Dorian said, opening his eyes slowly. Shimmering, sparkling silver, staring, sipping on the sight of him. Drinking him up like nectar, like ambrosia. “Saccharine. Just a touch short of cloying. I’ve craved a taste of that syrup. I’ve craved you. Phantom pains from the spaces you used to occupy. Stay with me a while longer. The camp rises slowly, with all the refugees traveling in our wake.”

“You’re the only person in the world who’s ever found me cloying,” he chuckled, listening to the golden scratch of Dorian’s scruff against his teeth. “Is it possible that you have a low tolerance for how beautiful you are? That you’ve somehow underestimated the effect you have? All your gilded bellsong and anise harmonies and lingering melodies of lilacs on mirror ponds. We can stay right here, let the camp drift on like seedlings, and I will remain with you in this tent making love to your eyelids until you forget how to weep.” 

Dorian laughed, tangling his legs between Rilienus’ and nuzzling the side of his nose with his own. “Your ducklings,” he started, his voice like honey in warm tea. “Did you have them dancing to your tune before the sun finished rising above the horizon?”

“They’re hardly ducklings,” Rilienus grumbled. “They’re a horde of nugs.” 

“Of all the occupations I imagined you taking, ‘professor’ wasn’t one of them. The idea of it delights me, though; the thought of you scowling at disobedient children…” Dorian pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose before lazily closing his eyes again. “I’ll have to settle in to watch one of your lessons some time.”

“You saw the one last night and were less than impressed.” He huffed, only marginally mollified by the fact that Dorian seemed more whole, more alight, than he had the day before. “And I’m hardly a professor. I’m merely attempting to prevent a coup by demons, for the sake of self-preservation and not having to clean bloodstains from my robes again.”

“Mmm,” Dorian murmured. “As you say, Professor Maecilia. Might I be permitted to audit one of your classes? Special dispensation? Will you make me write an essay? Sit for exams? What subjects shall you be covering this term, my love?”

“You’re having entirely too much fun with this. It’s indecent.” Rilienus rested his head on the pillow, watching him. “And, in any case, I shan't be covering any subjects. I’m a wicked maleficar. It’s a wonder no one shot at me for trying to teach them rudimentary focus this morning.”

“I mean to speak with Fiona, if we ever manage to leave this bed, which now that morning is here, I’m not so certain.” Dorian opened his eyes again, smiling up at him. “Has Seeker Pentaghast decided on how you’ll be serving the Inquisition yet? My position, as far as I can tell, is to stand about and look handsome. I do hope to start a library though. You’ll be aghast at the pittance of literary material we’ve managed to scrounge up at Haven. Almost nothing on the arcane, and less than nothing on the Imperium. I’ve half a mind to pen some books myself, out of desperation.”

“What a library that would be, full of very short books,” Rilienus chuckled, stroking the curve of Dorian’s tricep. “‘I once saw someone turn into a bird and I thought, I can do that, and so I did. Now you, too, can do this. Watch out for splicing and losing your mind. Ta.’”

“Accurate,” Dorian laughed, twining their fingers together. “I couldn’t let anyone think that Phlenex could outcast me; it was important. Would you like another demonstration? You could take notes for me this time.”

“I’d like you to teach me how,” he murmured, “so - yes. I’ll take notes. Prodigious notes.” The shape of his fingers, the strength in them, the way Dorian’s palm fit against his own like pieces to a puzzle. His heart ached. Gods, but he had missed it. Missed him. Missed Dorian like a limb or some integral organ that left him less, or reminded him that he simply hadn’t been complete before he’d found him. He’d breathed, blossomed, whole for such an agonizingly short time only to be left in rags again- worse than before once knew how it felt to be alive. “I’ve managed miniscule modifications, but nothing like a complete transformation.”

“Show me,” Dorian said, sitting up, a determined expression crossing his features. He was fully awake now, taking the kava and bowl of stew from the side table, heating both again with a flash of elemental, wrinkling his nose slightly as he palmed the roll and dipped it into the bland broth. “I want to see what you can do.”

“Dorian...” he whined quietly. Light and fire, bare flesh and the buzz of ozone. He rolled to his back, luxuriating in the sight of the planes and angles and curves of him. Void, but he _wanted_ him. Sleep softened, morning rough, his mind as sharp and quick as a flechette. ‘Too soon’ - Dorian’s voice echoed in his mind. “Now?” He tilted his head, “And don’t you at least want salt for that muck?” Although it was good to see him eating more than a handful of almonds. Good to see the vigor in him again. 

“If you’re up to it, yes, now, absolutely!” Dorian grimaced at the first bite of soup-soaked bread, washing it quickly down with kava and watered-down wine, but he was nearly glowing with excitement. “Needs spices, but that’s alright. I haven’t had someone to talk with about theory in—hmm…” Dorian frowned. “A bit of time staying with Maevaris, but she was in the palace more often than not. It’s been about a year. Bit longer, perhaps. Oh, how I’ve missed delving into the arcane with a deft mind. Show me what you’ve managed thus far.”

“As you will it, my love, so shall it be,” Rilienus sighed, shutting his eyes and folding his hands across his belly. “Although you’re going to be disappointed. This isn’t my specialty, as you well know. I’ve really only managed what has been necessary.” He lengthened his spine, humming deep in his chest until he could feel the vibrations resonating out through his muscles and flesh, bones and sinews. Another layer of mana, another note to the chord, and the pattern of his own body was shimmering and malleable in his mind’s eye. 

He touched that pattern lightly with his mana, recreating the patterns he’d studied, piece by piece, line by line, thread by thread, until the patchwork was seamless. Then opened his eyes, studying the distortions. Blurred light and pale colors, but he could count the eyelashes on Dorian’s eyelids as he blinked. He could see the pulse in his neck. “So.”

“Lovely,” Dorian breathed, running his fingers across the long, furry, pointed ears. “Can you whistle and hear the sonic vibrations bounce back? Function as well as form? And those eyes… Feline? Maker, you must be a terror in low light. You’ve always gravitated towards the shadows. Dangerous,” he chuckled, taking his hand. “Remind me not to cross you.”

“As if you could.” His voice sent vibrant echoes reverberating through the space. Glass, ceramic, metal, gems, leather, parchment, vellum- And the shape of his words danced alongside the materials, colors and scents twisting through his mind. “If I could take the function without the form,” he said slowly, wading through his senses, “I would.”

“Mmm,” Dorian tilted his head, making a vague attempt to put his mustache back to rights. “Ever thought of using an illusion to cover it? You’re pretty adept with manipulating light, I’d imagine you could easily cover up those ears, however endearing they might be.”

“Covering them isn’t the issue. It’s the pattern; it’s too high a resonance.” He shut his eyes, releasing his hold on the manifestations and waiting for his heart to stop echoing like a drum in his own ears. “Too easily felt by anyone with a mind to notice. Or wards.” He swallowed, wetting his lips. “A complete shift is less noisy than a partial, but I’ve never managed it.” 

Gingerly, he opened his eyes and met Dorian’s. There. Silver, lit from within. The blessed, edible warmth of his skin. Color. “Size is a problem, which perplexes me as I’ve never taken issue with spatial manipulation. However, the moment I start to shrink, I can feel my mind slipping and I panic.” He sniffed, smiling wryly. “As much as I adore added functionality, I don’t _actually_ want to spend the rest of my days flitting around as a rodent. I knew a fellow who did just that. He’s very partial to crackers now.”

“You don’t need to completely transform. We should send for some books from the Magisterial library on arcanic damping. If you’ve a critically damped system, you’ll never impart an oscillation at all, no matter how closely people are listening. A millisecond to reach equilibrium, the moment you cast. It’ll feel like… a butterfly landing on a mountaintop to anyone who’s looking for resonances.” Dorian took another bite of his breakfast, sighing at the taste of the soup. “Alas, I don’t have the materials to help you with that on me at the moment. I’ll send a letter. I still have friends in the city.” He was eating, drinking, laughing, the lines on his face starting to smooth after a night of solid rest. “I _could_ help you polymorph, though? You could channel me while I do it.”

“Yes, I’m entirely sure that you could, and an internal demonstration would be exceedingly helpful.” He brushed Dorian’s knee with his fingertips. “But then we would both need a very long nap.”

Dorian drew him close, arms around his shoulders, and kissed him gently on the lips, before pressing another touch to his forehead. “In the evening, then. Soon. I should probably get ready, yes? We can only stall so much.”

“I thought all you needed to do was stand around looking pretty,” he murmured. “We could use a simulacra for that. Give you some pithy quotes: something erudite and witty that will bewilder the goat-brained.”

“Oh, do be kind to the poor southerners. It’s not entirely their fault they live in an uncultured backwater.” 

“They could move.”

“Move. Yes. As we should.” Dorian stood, offering a hand and a warm smile. “Up. Up, my love. Let us see what catastrophes await us in the outside world. I _do_ want to get you a horse, so I can stare at your backside all afternoon.”

“You could bother to visit me where I’ve been,” Rilienus eyed the length of him, from the tips of his toes to the top of his half-flattened, glorious hair. “I’m even capable of standing on that cart. I could be persuaded to give any number of shows. And, in fact, probably have, with the number of times I’ve had to leap back to keep my crate of alembics from crashing. If I’m not there, who will monitor my glassware? Thom? Cassandra? One of those hamfisted soldiers?”

“Who is Thom?” Dorian stepped closer, taking his hand, winking. “Should I be jealous?”

“Thom,” he waved a hand negligently, as though he hadn’t only just learned the boy’s name himself. “Thomas… whatever his surname is. The little- The mop-headed child who drives the cart.” He sniffed. “Jealous. Yes, you should be. There’s a brute who rides the line near us; he smells distinctly of rotting trout and keeps eyeing me. Either he wishes to murder me or bed me. Possibly both.”

“Making friends, then? I’m so proud. Perhaps you’ll make a few more before the day’s end.” Dorian laughed, tugging him from the bed and into his embrace, running his hands down his sides. “And if you’d like to bed the smelly trout man, just make sure to wash up before coming back to me.”

“Ah, what a waste that would be. If I’m to be coated in trout sweat, I’d at least like to wear it for a day or two.” He smirked, walking his fingers up Dorian’s back. He met Dorian’s gaze for a breath, then tucked his head, resting his cheek to the man’s shoulder. Strong and firm. He breathed deep; cardamom and anise, ink and wine and that essential violet electricity that was Dorian. Rilienus wanted to spill him back onto the bed and eat him alive; make him sweat then lick him clean again. But Dorian’s fingers on him were light, not grasping. Not- He exhaled slowly. “Perhaps it would help me blend in amidst the riffraff, like a scented camouflage.” 

“If you wish it, _amatus_ ,” Dorian smiled wryly. “You can have anyone you want. Anyone and everyone. So long as you come back to me before the morning light.”

Rilienus traced that smile with his gaze, looking for heat, for… _something_. Something inexpressible. That hunger that had once torn at him night and day, rising in Dorian’s gaze like a swell in a sea- “I’ll take that under advisement then, shall I?”

Dorian frowned, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. “Only if it would please you. I want for you to have all that you wish.”

“Do you?” he asked softly. “And what is it that you wish for?”

“The pleasure of having you close.” Dorian sighed, running slender fingers up his arm. “But I don’t wish to limit you. I’ve had—“ his eyes looked down, to the side, back towards the bed they’d so recently shared. “Less interest in some of the activities I used to enjoy. It’s not you, Ril. I want you to feel satisfied, even if I’m not able to—“

Rilienus lifted a brow, “How can you know that? How can you say that it isn’t me if you don’t even- You’d rather shoo me off to shag some Southern soldier stinking of salmon?”

“ _No_ ,” Dorian said, sinking back down onto the mattress. “No. That’s not it—you don’t understand—“

“Help me understand, then.” He took a seat beside him, twining their fingers together. “I’m listening. I’m studiously avoiding a veritable vineyard of assumptions.”

Dorian’s gaze stayed downcast, studying the knots in the wooden boards that made up his enchanted floor. “The time between when I left Alexius’ estate and when he approached me to join the Venatori… Please just believe me when I say it’s nothing to do with you. There are quite a few bits I don’t wish to think about, if I can avoid it. Does that suffice for now?”

Rilienus knew that tone. He knew it better than he had a right to, had heard it in his own voice and the voices of countless others; he’d simply never imagined he would hear Dorian’s lilting melody struck minor. He wrapped his arms around him, tucking his chin to Dorian’s shoulder. “Yes.”

Dorian turned his head and met his lips, sweet and gentle, his touch tinged with some unspoken sorrow. He pulled back, their foreheads still touching as Dorian cupped his cheek. “It’s not you. I swear on Andraste’s ashes. You’ve made me more whole than I’ve felt in years. Time, Ril. I think I just need time. And distance from that Blighted castle.”

“Take whatever you need. You don’t owe me an explanation.” He held Dorian’s hand to his cheek. “It’s fine; it’s beautiful. To breathe your air is enough.” He glanced between Dorian’s eyes. “I’d really prefer not to stink of fish if it’s all the same to you; I hope that doesn’t offend.”

“No,” Dorian smiled, a shadow of the expression he’d worn earlier. “No. I _did_ hope you’d say that. But know you always have the option. Perhaps not with a trout-scented soldier, but I don’t intend to own you. Anything that would make you happy would satisfy me.”

“ _You _make me happy. You are, to my experience, the only thing in this world that truly does. Isn’t that a terrible burden for you.” Rilienus leaned into his palm. “You’re right; you don’t own me. I choose you. I would choose you a hundred times, or a thousand, or more. You are _light_. You. The whole of you. You’re a horizon in a world that makes me want to scream. I seethe in the dark and then there’s you, without effort, just existing and breathing possibilities.”__

____

He felt the wet warmth of Dorian’s tears, dripping between his fingers before landing softly on the bedspread. Somehow, he was smiling. Crying and smiling, light and hope and pain and promise, all wrapped in one. “I suppose I just have one question, then.”

____

“Hm?”

____

“Do you think your friend Thom would mind a bit more company this morning? I’d stay beside you if I’m able.”

____

“You are more than welcome. Of course, you won’t be able to do your job. What will the Herald do with herself, without you to ride nearby and look dashing?” He smiled, leaning in to kiss the tears from his cheeks. “I suppose she could glance backwards. Double the visual glory. Do we dare? I’ll even wear some colors.”

____

“ _You_? In a shade other than black?” Dorian chuckled, wiping the residual wetness from his cheeks. “Now there’s a sight. Color me shocked. Now I can’t possibly miss it.”

____

“Ah, yes, my love,” Rilienus kissed his fingertips as they passed. “For you? I will don a rainbow. Or- what color is shocked? Yellow? A nice vibrant one?” 

____

“Close. Not quite.”

____

“Hm. Gold? Amber and marigold?” He narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. “Shades of copper? Oh, I have a fantastic sunburst headpiece that I’d wager could make the Seeker cry ‘heretic’.”

____

“I was thinking of your favorite hue.” Dorian ran his thumb across the line of Rilienus’ jaw. “Or at least, it used to be.”

____

“What? Cerulean?” 

____

“Wrong again.” Dorian chuckled, his grin widening. “You know, there’s a little shop now, in Minrathous, in the city center, near the big fountain. The owner used to own a stand where he spun sweets into spiders’ webs and sold them to children. He’s been so successful he’s been able to open his own candy store, to the delight of the local urchins, I’m certain.”

____

“You’re making me hungry,” Rilienus hummed low. “The trouble is, I’ve grown very particular about the shade of caramel I adore, and I imagine if I wore your skin, it would be rather too shocking.” He nudged Dorian’s nose with his own. “In keeping with my malevolent reputation, though, no doubt.”

____

“I like you in shades of blue. Green would be even better, but you’ve worn it for too long already. Blue and silver.” Dorian nuzzled against his cheek. “If caramel doesn’t suit.”

____

“Caramel suits me just fine. I can manage caramel. And blue. And silver. And even green, if you like. I’ll wear a Blighted sheepskin, if you fancy it. Just spend the day with me, yes? Come sit in my terrible little cart and let me share my wine with you. We can fill little Thom’s head with all sorts of dangerous nonsense.”

____

“Are you asking me on a date?” Dorian laughed and kissed his temple. “If so, then I accept, wholeheartedly. Wine, sheepskins, dangerous nonsense, and all.”

____

“A date,” Rilienus nipped at his chin. “Yes, fine. A _date_. All the dates. Every one of them.” He leaned back a touch, studying Dorian, “There is one thing you could do for me, if you’re inclined.”

____

“What is it, _mon rossignol_?”

____

“That trinket you’ve been carrying about on a chain... Would you mind awfully putting it onto one of your fingers?” He lifted his brows. “Chains break, you see.”

____

Dorian’s eyes widened, brows raised, as he nodded slowly. “I meant to keep it close to my heart.” He raised his hands to unclasp the simple golden necklace, sliding the ring off and setting the chain on his desk. “But you’re right,” he said, slipping it on the fourth finger of his right hand. “I’d be devastated if I happened to lose this particular bit of jewelry.”

____

“I’m rather sentimentally attached to the pair of them as well. But. If you do,” he gathered Dorian’s hand in his own, kissing the ring. “I will make you another. I still have that belt.”

____

“You—“ Dorian shook his head, his eyes somehow growing even wider. “ _Vishante kaffas_ . I can’t believe—“ He laughed, running a hand through his hair, grinning. “No, I suppose I _can_. Well, if this is to be the formal beginning of our courtship, I’ll have you know that I’m partial to wine, whiskey, sweets, jewelry, flowers, and articles of clothing. And pithy remarks. And sarcasm. And magical theory before breakfast. The look in your eyes and the smell of your skin and the curve of your neck as it touches your shoulders. And—Maker’s breath, how are you so delightful?”

____

Rilienus felt his cheeks warm, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m hardly- Dorian. Wait- beginning? Beginning?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, peering over Dorian’s hand. “Am I to understand that you expect me to start from scratch? Maker’s breath. I leapt out of a window for you, remember? I think I should get to carry that through.”

____

“Even when I’m in Ferelden, I’m the most eligible bachelor in Minrathous.” Dorian laughed, moving towards the foot of his bed and tapping on the lid of the chest, then drawing a rune with his finger. He opened the oak and stairs appeared, leading down into a pocket in the ground. Dorian began to descend into the chest, his bare feet hardly making a sound against the wooden spiral staircase. “I expect to be swept off my feet by anyone intending to win my hand. Help me pick out my outfit?”

____

“Win?” Rilienus asked, exasperated. “ _Win_? From whom? I joined your Blighted cult. Win.” He sniffed, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. “You cheeky bastard.”

____

“Void, he’s found me out!” Dorian turned back, smiling, looking up from the floor of his enchanted closet. “And here I thought I’d get at least a bouquet of roses out of that ruse. Now, what would you like to see me in today, I wonder? Or shall I pick out something myself?”

____

“Do you have anything with fewer buckles?” Rilienus perched at the top of the stairs, peering down at him. Light. He had to keep the lightness, reel Dorian’s laughter back, summon his joy and protect it like an endangered spirit. “Not that those robes aren’t _strapping_.” 

____

Dorian peered up at him, his eyes narrowing even as a smile curled his lips. “What was that, my darling? Are you not a fan of my armor? Why don’t you follow me down those stairs and repeat yourself.”

____

Rilienus hummed, “I’ve seen what you think of as proper attire, my own. I’m likely to get snagged on something if I go down there. Or bridled. Can’t have that.” He leaned beneath the railing, salving himself with the sight of Dorian. “Is that the idea? You spend so much time on horseback, you’re concerned about needing spare parts for the beast’s accoutrements? Do you have a set that’s made entirely of all those little hoops you stick your feet into?”

____

“Stirrups. And you’re dreadful, you realize?” Dorian was pulling robes from racks and slipping them back into place. “I’ll have you know, these designs are from _next_ fall’s collection. By the time we’ve returned to Minrathous, we could very well see every magister with an eye for flair garbed in similar attire.”

____

“Is flair what they call those little dangling bits out of the horse’s mouth?” he murmured dryly. “Or the decoration on the saddle?”

____

“Always with the concern for dangling bits.” 

____

“My deepest apologies. I’ve a condition.”

____

Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Do you intend to just sit up there on your perch and chide me? I’m surprised you’re letting me so far from your side so soon. I’m growing cold from neglect down here.”

____

“When will I next have an opportunity to look down on you?” But Rilienus slipped to his feet, rushing down the winding stair to wrap himself against Dorian’s back, folding his arms around him. “There. I shall do my best to ward off the chill.” He rested his chin on Dorian’s shoulder, eyeing the assorted items in the wardrobe. “Have you anything with a padded posterior? One imagines that would be most helpful with saddles and bumpy carts.”

____

“You just wish to stare at my padded posterior,” Dorian turned in his arms to embrace Rilienus, pressing a kiss to his brow. “I understand the impulse. From what I hear, it’s quite the striking monument.”

____

“Ah, now, don’t be coy,” he chuckled, gathering him close. “I’ll wager a quarter of the reason you spend so long strapping yourself in each day is to linger before your looking glass admiring your various monumental attributes.” 

____

“But of course,” he whispered, brushing a curl behind Rilienus’ ear. “What better subject to consider during one’s meditation? I’m certainly not spending those moments praying for Andraste’s light.”

____

“Tut tut, what a terrible disciple you are.” Truly, he was a gift from the gods. And whatever ambient chill curled around them from the outdoors only served to tighten and illuminate all his best qualities. Rilienus shut his eyes, holding on. “I, personally, spend nearly every quiet moment in contemplation of the divine.”

____

“Oh?” Dorian’s voice was warm, rolling tides lapping against his ankles, washing away the sand and dirt and detritus that covered his skin. “And what have you discerned during your periods of exalted adoration?”

____

“That I’ve a weakness for quicksilver and caramel.” He kissed Dorian’s cheek tenderly. “And that sometimes weakness is a strength.”

____

“You--” Dorian’s arms tightened, slipping down to his waist. Strong, an echo of the vigor he’d remembered, but growing steadily stronger. A peal of lightning when their lips met, lightning over a troubled sea, the crackle of energy from an approaching storm lingering in the air. Dorian pulled away slowly, almost pulled against his will like a fish on a line. Rilienus studied the depths of moonlight, the sparkling stars that made up his eyes. Resignation, where once there was nothing but optimism. Fear, where there was once nothing but indignation and joy. What sorts of treachery could have dulled starlight? Could eclipse the rays of the sun itself? Dorian blinked, turning away, back to his dresser, pulling out an obsidian robe, thick fabric broken up by black leather. “You remind me what it was to be free.”

____

What had happened? What? He longed to ask, to wind Dorian in his arms and ply him with tenderness and wine until he unfolded and unburdened. Rilienus flexed his hand at his side. “What goes around comes around, as they say.” He hesitated, unsure whether to touch or give him room. “It’s a troubling sensation as I recall. Troubling and rather sidereal.”

____

“Less troubling,” Dorian said, his face an unreadable mask where it once held volumes, tomes of information, of emotion, in a single expression. “Just requires some minor adjustments.” He ran his hands along the seams of the robe, brushing out the wrinkles with deft fingers. “Shall I find you later? I’ve a few tasks that require my attention this morning.”

____

“As you will.” He tucked his hands to his spine by rote, soothing himself with the familiar even as the dismissal stung like slipped needles. Not personal. No. He believed that, believed Dorian, knew the notes of trauma like a familiar lullaby. And still, the sting. “You know where I’ll be.” The dichotomy of crushing boulders and fluttering moths in his chest made him hold his breath until he’d alighted into the tent. 

____

Space then. Distance and time. He slipped his satchel over his shoulder and peeled the fabric of the world back just enough to slip under its shimmering facade. Away. Away and out. The sun had finally made its presence fully known- warming the rain and peeking tepidly around the clouds. He slipped from the edge of the Veil, considering the coterie of fearful, backward figures in mud-slung robes as he made his way back to collapse his tent and return to his cart. Something to do, that was all he needed. Some task to occupy his mind and hands, some purpose so he wouldn’t simply tear at the fabric of the world with his teeth until it tore.

____


	8. gone away from mine own bosom

##  Dorian

The buckles of his robes felt heavy in his hands, cold stone, after warm skin. Rilienus, a beacon of light against the cold, gray morning. Beautiful and eager and  _ wanting _ . Oh, how he’d missed the desire in those eyes, the longing in those hands, the rough calluses and soft, supple skin against his own. The charm of that voice, a divine chorus, a serenade of saints, birdsong and evening sweat and wiry arms clinging to the last stars as the sun slowly began its inevitable climb across the horizon. 

Dorian wished for nothing more than to be the man Rilienus reached for, the sweet solace that pulled him back from the brink of darkness, lighting up his sky and his eyes and his heart, making his burdens bearable again. But he wasn’t the person his lover expected him to be, not anymore. The simple, open-minded naïveté that had propelled him through his years as a young man, hardly more than a boy, had been snuffed like a candle. 

He could hardly bear the rejection that would come when Rilienus learned that. That he’d changed. Been changed.  _ Allowed  _ himself to be changed. Even though he’d escaped father’s ritual, in many ways, Halward Pavus had still succeeded. Months locked away in his childhood home, solitary in between his father’s lecturing and attempts to get Dorian to accept conditions he simply couldn’t. 

Mother drinking more heavily, the servants whispered, locking herself away in her greenhouse and her solar, but still she didn’t come to her son’s aid. His wrists shackled with suppression cuffs, able to see into the Fade, even to touch his mana, but unable to cast even the simplest spark of elemental. Bars on the windows. Bars on his door. Four walls defining his life for the better part of a year. Looking between the gaps, trying to remember what it was like to fly. 

He wanted to gather Rilienus to him like a blanket, to wrap himself in his body, to allow himself to be unwound, to allow his lover to dissolve the rocks that had settled in his lungs that made him struggle to breathe when he was alone. To keep him close. To remember breathless nights and lazy mornings when fear had felt invigorating, instead of stifling.

But to do so was a cruelty to them both. Dorian was but a shadow, a shade, a distorted echo of the man Rilienus deserved. Perhaps it had been a mistake, inviting him to his chambers so soon after their reunion. He’d not given Rilienus time to realize who he’d become. How much he’d lost since their last parting. 

Dorian slipped the robe over his shoulders, strapping and tying and buckling, fingers slow and stumbling.

Hadn’t he felt the symphony of Rilienus’ adoration when they ripped open the fabric of time together? The man had kept his memories, his belt, and  _ Maker’s tears _ , he still  _ wore _ his ring. Anything, Rilienus had said.  _ Anything _ . Until the stars fell from the sky. Was it possible that he meant it? That Rilienus  _ could  _ mean those words, even after learning what he’d become? 

A tiny flicker. The smallest of sparks. Hope. A glimmer of hope, a green glow against the darkness of a rift that spewed demons from across the Veil. A hand stretching through the silken expanse of space and time, twining their fingers together like thread. 

He combed through his hair, straightening the mess of his mustache, blinking away the wetness from his eyes. Out, out into the daylight. Out to meet the gray Ferelden sun. To try to build a stronger foundation than the one they’d been born into. 

Perhaps it was enough to try. To muddle through calamity together. To survive. To fall asleep and wake up enveloped by the same pair of arms. To reclaim a sliver of what they’d lost. 

Dorian picked up his satchel, opened the flap of his tent, and waved his hand, and placed the fist-sized model of his dwelling into the pouch. A nearby apprentice gawked at him, but he just gave him a wry smile, walking towards the command tent to try and catch a meeting with the Herald and the Grand Enchanter before the camp commenced their amble towards the village they’d named their haven.

“Enchanter Pavus,” Fiona intoned, in her casual Orlesian lilt. “Were you able to speak with your countryman regarding his lessons? I received both complaints and commendations this morning; evidently, he had a group of them sitting cross-legged with their eyes closed in a clearing.”

Dorian cleared his throat, crossing the spartan room, skirting the table that was laid with maps and tiny carved pawns. “Indeed, I heard the same when I spoke to Rilienus. He was teaching them a simple focusing meditation. Nothing to be concerned over.”

“The Senior Enchanters shall handle the curriculum of their education from this point on. Your friend need not concern himself with this matter further.”

Neshaata was standing in the corner of the tent, sipping from a massive mug of what smelled like a heavily spiced brew of kava herself, speaking quietly to Ambassador Montilyet and Commander Cullen. She was frowning. 

Dorian turned back to the Grand Enchanter, his mouth a thin line. “My lady, you know as well as I that with the damage to the Veil, the risk of possession will be greater than ever. Not to mention the demons that pour out of the rifts. Your mages should be prepared for what is to come. To know their enemies is the first step towards defeating them.”

“I know,” she sighed, shoulders dropping slightly. “I know. I’ve been saying the same to my enchanters for years, but the Chantry would have none of it.”

“You realize that the use of Tranquility is exceedingly rare in Tevinter, yes? Our children are prepared for encounters with demons. The Circles have been disbanded, your rebellion won by siding with the Inquisition.” Dorian searched the warm, brown eyes of the rebel leader. “This is your chance to safeguard the minds of your mages. To teach them to use their powers from a place of illumination, rather than fear.”

“Maecilia is his name, is it not?” 

Dorian nodded slightly, bowing his head. 

“Rilienus Maecilia is an admitted member of the Venatori.”

“As were you, my lady, if you do not mind me saying so. And now he’s an admitted member of the Inquisition. As are you. He was desperate. A position you and your mages know well.” Dorian thumbed his chin, tilting his head slightly. “He wishes to help. Would be pleased to do so, if you’ll permit him. Simple focusing. Fundamentals. Demonology, just enough to protect them from the monsters they’ll no doubt fight. And if you’ve concerns about his teachings, I’m sure Seeker Pentaghast would be more than happy to monitor him. They’re becoming fast friends, from what I hear.”

“I--” Fiona nodded, returning to a stack of papers, a list of casualties from her side that she was still trying to sort out. Letters for the families of the fallen she would pen. Families that likely hadn’t heard from their children since they were taken to the Circle. Now she would be informing them how they died to be free from it. “I shall send along some of the other mages to oversee his lessons. I only learned truths about demons and darkspawn when I fought with the Wardens. Even my most established enchanters could probably learn something.”

Dorian felt an armored hand on his shoulder, the strong smell of kava filling his nose. 

“Excellent!” Neshaata chimed, looking down at him, pulling him aside. “Making friends before lunch. I like it. Have you recovered from our most recent expedition? Because I have another one for you.”

“Hmm?” In truth, he’d need a week spent soaking in a bath and eating candied walnuts to recover, but he was making his way towards it.

“Leliana. Scouts looking for mage stragglers went missing. The Sister went to investigate. Missing now, too. I mean to find her. Coming with?”

Dorian sighed. He’d been hoping for a leisurely day and another long night of rest. “I suppose I shall, then.”

“I’m giving you an extra horse. For your... old friend. Be good to have a pair of amicable mages along for our rescue mission.” She chuckled, patting him on the back again, her gauntlets heavy on his shoulder. “I hope he’s a fast learner. I’ve watched him bumping around in that cart for the past several days. Run along and grab him, will you? Sera and I will meet you near the horses when you’re ready. Don’t take too long.”

“As you wish, Herald,” Dorian said, crossing the tent and slipping back through into the chatter and clatter of the campsite.

He heard Rilienus’ voice before he saw him, muttering behind the cart that he expected to ride in as the boy sat backward on the driver’s seat. 

“You can do all that with those?” the child asked, evidently in awe. 

“Carefully. Yes,” Rilienus answered. “Everything is possible, everything and anything, including blowing oneself up with an improper mixture of bat guano.” He swept around the side of the cart, a blaze of color in the grey. Caramel. Maker’s tears, he'd actually done it. Layers of silk and satin that rippled around him, soft and liquid and loose as melted caramel over the fine whisky of his flesh. The robe was open almost to his navel, belted in place by what looked like an assortment of cloth scraps - burnt umber, bronze, apricot, and slices of blue. Thick golden ropes were slung about his neck in varying lengths with talismans and amulets in full view. The sleeves were wide, asymmetrical, giving a sense that the cloth was dripping from him in slow motion. 

“You can show me that-“

“Not in these conditions, no. Humidity is death to alchemy. But if you survive and convince your terribly annoying companions not to chatter on so, I might show you a couple of simple tricks.” He glanced up, finding Dorian with a slow, thoughtful blink. “Good morning, Dominus.”

“My lord Maecilia.” Dorian bowed deeply, trying to will the blush from his cheeks as his eyes raked over Rilienus’ exposed skin. “Have you need of a jacket? The weather here is not so forgiving as that in Minrathous. I wouldn’t want you catching a chill.”

“Ah, but the sun is boiling, can you not feel it? Look how it hides itself away up there, sneaking behind the clouds.” He spread his arms wide, flexing his hands in the cold mist as though it were a warm shower. Gold winked and glittered at his hands as he moved. The various bracelets binding his wrists were a dark, bewildering contrast to the ensemble, but even there he’d clasped gold loops in among the functional. “Stunning weather, truly. Like being in an oven.”

“Stunning,” Dorian agreed. “Quite.” He turned to the young man at the front of the cart, frowning. “I’m afraid I’ve been informed that Enchanter Maecilia’s presence is needed elsewhere until further notice. But he’s been given leave to resume his instruction upon his return. You would do well to listen to him. He’s got a soft spot for candies, if he decides to be particularly authoritarian. Always good to have a bribe or seven handy.”

“Never could trust you to keep a secret. Soft spots, indeed,” Rilienus scowled, though his lips quirked to the side. “Alright, if I’m to be carried off, go collect - ah, what’s the one with the frizz?” He gestured vaguely about his head.

“Mattia?” The boy asked.

“Have her ride with you and monitor my things. You break one of my alembics with poor driving, there will be no number of sweets that will shelter you from my wrath.”

“Caramels, then. You’ll have to spring for caramels.” Dorian chuckled, watching Rilienus. “And come to me if you’ve shattered any of them by accident. A trivial mending will set them to rights again. I’ll show you. I’m Dorian, by the way,” he smiled, extending a hand for the boy, who just stared at it, apparently confused. “You should be able to pick me out of a crowd easily enough.” He pulled his hand back dropping it to the side. “Shall we depart, then, oh wrathful one?”

“What happened to wine?” Rilienus asked, following Dorian back through the camp. “They need something to concentrate on other than the Breach. Monitoring glasswares is as close as I could come up with on short notice.” 

“Wise. A wise professor you’ll make. You look like a god, straight from the Golden City itself,” Dorian said softly, eyeing him from his periphery. “But those silks won’t do much for saddle sores, I’m afraid. We’ve specifically been requested by the Herald for a rescue mission.”

“Rescue?” he frowned. “Rescue who? What do you mean ‘we’?” He narrowed his eyes. “What saddle? I’m not getting on one of those things, Dorian, I mean it. The only saddle I’ve ever had an interest in was attached to a qunari in a little number outside of Carastes.”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ , you’ve been busy.” Dorian smirked, turning to him. “Sister Nightingale’s gone missing. Reconnaissance at least, rescue most likely. A group of Inquisition scouts were looking for lost mages. Now we’re looking for them. I’ll be gone until they’re found and I might not meet up with the caravan again until it’s reached Haven. But if you’re entirely set on staying with your cart—“

“Send a snake after a mouse and a weasel after a snake-“ he murmured. “It sounds like a very well laid trap.”

“We’ve navigated our fair share of those, hmm?” Dorian sighed, meeting the fields of green in his eyes. “I’ll miss you, Rilienus.”

“You think I put on satin in this drizzle to entertain the Southerners?” He sniffed. “I’m not letting you run off and get yourself into trouble without me.”

Dorian smiled, wanting to take his hand and draw him close, kiss him breathless and feel that satin under his fingers. 

Too many strangers. Too many eyes. Too many whispering mouths. 

“Then we shouldn’t keep the Herald waiting.” Dorian contented himself with smiling, knowing he was close. Knowing that—for however long it lasted—Rilienus still wanted him. And feeling a glimmer of hope, a flame dampened by morning fog, but burning nonetheless, that he might still, even knowing who Dorian had become.

##  Rilienus 

“Stop that,” Rilienus hissed, dragging the reins of the excitable dappled mare as she attempted some fancy footwork to grab a nibble of grass. They’d moved off to the side of the beaten trail to allow Sera to scout ahead, and the mare - unlike her rider - seemed eager to keep moving even after hours of stiff riding. “Why am I cursed with willful creatures?”

The Herald snorted, gnawing on the edge of a hunk of jerky, watching the trees. She was a massive woman in her own right, with broad muscular shoulders covered by plate and her height was emphasized by the curve of her horns and the pile of thick braids that she’d wound to sit like a gryphon’s nest between them. “How’s your arse?”

He narrowed his eyes on her. He’d been tossed about on the Blighted animal, barely clinging to the saddle when they’d started galloping, and the attempts he’d made at making a more cushioned saddle from solidified air had only resulted in him being very nearly thrown. “Finer than you’ve ever seen, I’m sure,” he murmured. 

She grinned with forced brightness. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen some really nice ones.” She rapped her temple, “Got a great collection for comparison.” She chuckled, “I can’t believe you never rode a horse. How do people get around in the Imperium? You just manifest your egos and ride them around?”

“ _ There’s _ an excellent idea. Your grasp of magic truly is extraordinary. Remind me again how your lovely little anchor works?”

She scowled a little, but the tension in her was being set aside for the argument. So much tension. So much worry. Rilienus glanced between her and Dorian. They acted as if it were the end of the world or something. Silly, really. 

He flicked his fingers down his robes, drying them for the hundredth time that day and refilling his water skin with the collected rain. The mare beneath him whinnied irritably, apparently as disenchanted by magic as the rest of the Southerners. “What is the point,” he asked, “of having all those followers if you go and do everything yourself?”

“If I had done, then Leliana would be back at Haven instead of wherever she is now.”

“From what I saw, she seemed very capable of handling herself.”

“She  _ died _ ,” the Herald snapped.

“Perhaps, but she lasted quite a while before she did. And that was against an army of demons. I shouldn’t think mere mortals would prove all that great of a challenge.”

“Rilienus, please, a little empathy,” Dorian said sharply, running his hand along the mane of his stallion, his eyes not rising from the horse’s back. A sleek, dark creature, as black as Dorian’s robes, perfectly behaved under his lover’s guidance. “We both lost people we cared about at Redcliffe. Even if we managed to undo it, they still died before our eyes.” He turned to face Neshaata with a small, reassuring smile. “He’s right, though, even if his execution was appalling. She’s tough. She survived the Great Game. The Blight. The Divine. The rebellion. We’ll find her and bring her back.” 

Rilienus frowned at the flickering ears of the mare. But they hadn’t, he wanted to say. None of them had died. They were all still around, even Felix, back at the camp among the listless and the weak. That wasn’t loss. Bewildering, yes, perhaps, but not worthy of grief. He tugged at the reins again as his mount bent to nibble. “I’m telling you: no. That’s poisonous, you idiot mammal.” He lifted his chin, settling back in the saddle, and flexed his senses outward, gritting his teeth when the mare jostled him again. “I swear to Andraste herself- if you interrupt me again, I will cut you up and eat you.” He flexed his senses again, breathing in the wind rustling through the leaves and the thick stalks of the farseer grasses. The elven girl was out there, climbing between the branches, taking a count of the number they were likely to encounter. Almost silent, just the scuff of leather on bark. Almost. The mare shifted again. “Damn it.” 

Dorian whistled softly and Rilienus’ horse lifted her head, turning toward him. “Try singing for her,  _ philomela mea _ . She’s not fluent in Common. Would only know a few words. And we’ll give her some treats later, work on her focus. You stayed in the saddle. Quite a feat in and of itself; you must be a natural.”

“Liar,” Rilienus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I heard you laughing. What do you want?” 

“Why must you assume my laughter must always be at your expense?”

“Because it came at the time I lost my boot and had to summon it back.”

“Alright, yes, that time it was at your expense,” Dorian sighed, stretching the soreness from his arms. “I’m sorry. You  _ are _ doing better than I expected, though. Try whistling next time. And using your knees. I was being serious about that.”

“I think this horse would benefit from about three rolls of silk-spun wadding and a carpet.” He glanced at the back of his hand, absently smoothing the black lacquer on his nails. “Then we will see about using my knees.” He couldn’t for the life of him think of what use the mages that the Herald had described would be other than bait. Of course, she had a point that if what they’d seen in the future was at all reliable, they  _ might _ have been using them to farm more of the red lyrium, but the stuff seemed prevalent enough on its own without needing to be grown. Far more likely, they’d been taken to draw the Inquisition’s forces to some other fate. Interrogation, perhaps, but they couldn’t know for certain who would come after the missing mages. Something.  _ Something _ . What? Knowing what they were up to was half the battle and he hadn’t the least idea. Some of the others he’d met under the Elder One’s gaze were just plain balmy. If it was one of them, there didn’t need to be a reason, and that was even worse. There was no way to plan for madness. He frowned, glancing up, “I will test the whistling. When we’re done here.” 

“As you will,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian agreed, still distracted, petting his animal. He seemed to have regained a significant portion of his energy, as well as that gentle, easy smile. “Do we have intelligence on who may be behind this? Any sightings in the area?”

“The last raven we had from Leliana placed her in the vicinity of Haversburg. She said the town was deserted and she was following a trail into the mountains. Thus.” She waved at the trees around them. “She could have left a clearer trail herself.”

“There’s Venatori,” Rilienus nodded in the direction Sera had gone. “I could hear the binding chains beneath the archer when she was moving. I don’t know how many. It sounded as though she was taking a count.”

The Herald stared at him. “What do you mean it sounded like it?”

“I mean what I said.” He frowned at the mare, “ _ Someone _ keeps moving.”

“I didn’t realize your senses extended so far, Rilienus,” Dorian lifted his head, tilting it toward him. “How far can you hear? What else have you picked up since we’ve been apart?”

“I dabbed a touch of mana to her before she left. It’s just a matter of following my own resonance.” He looked between them, “I’d have asked, but based on how she’s responded to most magic with spitting, I thought better of it.”

“A fair assumption. Sera seems to be less than fond of mages, us in particular. A common theme in the south, I’m afraid.”

“In any case. It’s a minor impression, merely something to follow along like a thread.” He lifted his brow. “Do you have a story like that down here? The children who find their way through the woods with the spool of thread?”

“Breadcrumbs,” the Herald was scowling. 

“That wouldn’t be at all useful. Those would get eaten. Thread is much better.” He smoothed the line of his robes over his knee. “In any case, I’m sure she’ll tell you what she found when she returns. I only wanted to be alerted if she was - say - caught in a trap. Or something of that sort.”

Dorian looked between the two of them, sighing. “Ril, let’s perhaps not magic anyone without their permission again, yes? It doesn’t set a good precedent.”

“Neither does spitting on one’s robes for cleaning them, but no one chastised the elven girl for that.” Rilienus lifted his brows. “Terribly imbalanced responses.”

“Be that as it may, there are hundreds of years of cultural influence leading to fear and prejudice against those with our abilities in this area of the world. Let’s try not to rankle the southerners, if it can be at all avoided.” Dorian turned to Neshaata. “Herald?”

“Hn?” She tore off a chunk of her jerky, squinting at him. “I’m not saying it’s not useful. I’m saying Sera’s going to be pissed the fuck off.”

“Can we keep this to ourselves, then? And in the future…” Dorian looked at Rilienus, clearly exasperated. “Could we please ask our allies’ permission first, before bespelling them?  _ Please _ ?”

“It’s not a  _ spell- _ ” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “ _ Fine _ . Wonderful. I shall look forward to having to debate my way through every solitary basic necessity. How thrilling for everyone.” He tipped himself off of the saddle, muttering as he clamored down into the brush. His knees nearly gave out as he touched the ground, but pride and a firm grip on the saddlehorn kept him upright. Old gods and new, he’d never been this sore. “If you’ll pardon me.”

Dorian gave him five minutes before he came to find him in the root-strewn landscape, looking apologetic, his characteristic grin replaced with a knotted brow and a look of concern. “I  _ am _ glad you decided to come along, you know.” He heard him call out, remaining a safe distance away. “Even if it didn’t seem like it just then.”

“I don’t need you lecturing me. Or apologizing for me. I’m not a child.”

Dorian flushed slightly, his cheeks reddening in the dappled shadow of the trees. “I’m sorry, Ril, I know.”

“The Imperium doesn’t need you apologizing for it, either. It’s a pit and you know it.” He crossed his arms, scowling at the lichen growing up the sides of the trees. “It’s a den of liars and vipers, but at least they’re marginally  _ civilized _ liars and vipers. There aren’t even  _ roads _ here. There aren’t  _ aqueducts _ ! It’s filthy and it’s fucking freezing and it smells and you-” Rilienus flexed his hands. “Why am I here? Is she trying to keep an eye on me? What is the point of this? If I’m not of use, why not leave me with all the little rags and ruffians?”

“If you wish to return to camp, then go. I can’t escort you myself, but I’m sure you can follow the smell of goats and the unwashed masses.” Dorian said, turning away, facing back towards Neshaata and the horses and Blighted waiting around doing nothing. “And it’s a pit. A den of horrors. And perhaps it’s irredeemable.” Dorian returned his gaze, steel in his eyes. Jaw set, determined. “Perhaps that’s just another one of their lies, though. Stop anyone from trying before they’ve even started.”

“Started  _ what _ ?” Rilienus asked, throwing his arms wide, “Trying to mollify the backwards? Trying to convince them that the place they fear isn’t worthy of that fear? It  _ is _ . The trouble is that they fear it for the wrong reasons. They weaken themselves and they hurt their children. They cull and damage the only means they have of protecting themselves.  _ Magic _ is beautiful. Magic is  _ everything _ . They’ve got their heads so far up their own-” He bit off, searching Dorian’s gaze. Flint and cold iron. “I’m sorry. I know you- I know you want to believe there’s something good left in the wreckage. Some ember that can be fanned back into a life-giving flame. I want you to be right. I do, for your sake. But I’m not going to tiptoe around to protect the image of the nation that made me what I am.”

“What you are? What you are, or who they’ve told you that you are?” Dorian made his way through the clearing, slowly toward him, his chin lifted. “Magic  _ is _ beautiful. Magic is beautiful and so are you. I want the world to see it. See the wonders it can do, that  _ you _ can do. But they’ll only close their eyes tighter if we try to force them to look.”

“I didn’t  _ bespell _ her,” he snapped, rubbing a hand over his face. “I  _ didn’t _ . I wouldn’t. You don’t have to believe me. Perhaps you shouldn’t. But I wouldn’t. I’m not a fool. I learned from last time. I wouldn’t- It was only a drop of mana.”

“If that’s what you say,  _ amatus _ , then I believe you.” Dorian sighed, crossing the distance and standing before him. “I do. I’m sorry, my love.”

Rilienus growled under his breath, brushing Dorian’s fingertips. “I’m sorry. I’m cross and all of this is-” He flexed his jaw. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you. You’ve enough on your plate without listening to me whine. You’re here and you’re allowing me to be here with you and I’m grateful for that. I am.”

“I came here to kiss you, not argue with you.” Dorian smiled slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re doing as well as can be expected of anyone. The lack of sidewalks alone is enough to make anyone cross.”

He lifted Dorian’s fingers to his lips. “It’s a wonder the whole nation hasn’t descended into dysentery.”

“A wonder, yes. I’ll back off, if that’d please you. I’m being a bit protective. Just—“ Dorian cupped his cheek with his hand, his eyes softening with his jaw. “Be careful, yes? My dreams the past few nights… I’ve seen you covered in lyrium, sprouting from your fingers, your eyes turning red and glowing. You, Felix, Alexius, my parents, all of the friends I’ve made here and the ones I have at home, dying slowly, their corpses mined for that awful, red crystal. It’s not a world I’m willing to see come to fruition again. I’d rather die fighting against it.” Dorian stroked the scruff on his cheek, frowning. “Be careful for me, if not for yourself.”

Rilienus leaned into his touch, caressing the inside of Dorian’s wrist with his thumb. “I will… try to behave myself. For you. I’ve fallen out of practice. If I ever had any skill at it in the first place.” He searched Dorian’s gaze, “That place we saw. We’ve already stopped that. And knowing what’s to come is an advantage. We do. We know things that the Elder One doesn’t. That his followers don’t. A number of them are fanatics for the Imperium. If we can convince them that he means to destroy it rather than lift it up.” He lifted a brow. “Weak minds are easily swayed.”

“How do you propose we go about swaying them? They’re not likely to believe either of us, at this point.”

“We don’t  _ tell _ them, my love. We  _ show _ them. Send dreams like yours out into their camps like bandits in the night. Let them begin to doubt.” Rilienus kissed the mound of his palm. “And should an extra nudge be necessary, I’m very adept at playing the beleaguered prisoner. Years of practice.”

“And you mean to give them nightmares, how, precisely?” Dorian looked at him, tilting his head, eyes wide and concerned. “Like what you managed with Heritia?”

“What-” Rilienus sighed. “I could. Yes. There’s more than one-” He frowned. “I suppose you would object to that particular method?” He shook his head. “I’m a brute. You’re having nightmares and I’m thinking of ways to use them. I’m-” He looked down, “Time and again, I fail you. When will it fucking end? I love you, I want to cradle you in my palms, and all I do is crush you over and over.”

Dorian’s fingers found the back of his skull, holding him, massaging his scalp, his other arm squeezing tightly. “Do I seem crushed to you? Truly? I don’t feel crushed. Not by you, in any case.” He pulled away slightly, pressing a kiss to his brow. “No. Memories of you kept me alive in the darkness. You aren’t responsible for Heritia’s actions. Nor the Praeceptor’s. Nor Alexius’. Nor my father’s. Nor mine.”

His lungs were on fire. Rilienus wrapped his arms around him, clinging. Not responsible, no, but causative. Tiles falling endlessly, tipped against each other. Perhaps he should have let the soothsayers look into his tapestry when he’d had the chance, if only to see what lay ahead and discern what other ways he might undermine this man who gave him life. If he knew, if he could see it, could he weigh the balance? Could he walk away if he needed to? Yes, he had before. For Dorian, he was capable of more than he had ever dreamed possible. He tightened his hold, engulfing himself in the scent of him. Spiced and strong, rich and resolute. “I’ll make it right. Somehow.”

“Just stay with me.” Dorian murmured, burying his nose in Rilienus’ curls. “Just stay here and love me and let me love you in return. That’s enough. As long as you’re safe. As long as you’re safe, we can work through the rest.”

“As you will.” He combed his fingers through Dorian’s hair, “As you will. I’ll do my best. So long as you allow me to take care of you, or at least to try.”

“Until my last breath,” Dorian exhaled, kissing his cheek and taking his hand. “Should we return before we’re missed? Neshaata’s had no pretty faces to keep her company all this while. And you look particularly delectable today. Wouldn’t want to hoard you all to myself. It simply wouldn’t be fair.”

“By all means.” He sucked his cheeks in, squinting into the canopy to recenter himself. “Let us go be dazzling in the dullest way imaginable.”

“Our surroundings are so dreary that the contrast must simply be blinding.” Dorian wrapped his arm around his waist, letting it sink low. “I like your more vibrant garb. Color suits you better than shadow. Perhaps you need a new moniker to reflect that.”

The thought of never again hearing Dorian’s murmured ‘mon rossignol’ made his heart ache, as the sight of him in mourning blacks had done throughout the day. Ten years, he reminded himself. It had been ten years. They - neither of them - were the youths they’d been in so very many ways. Some patterns were easy to fall back to, easy as breathing, but others… Others would need to be altered. Change with time. “I thank you for the compliment, but I don’t dress like this for compliments. I do it for kisses; they’re much better. Kisses and worthless trinkets. Little glass jars full of drool. That sort of thing.”

“You  _ did _ say you wanted to bottle me up, once.” Dorian turned to him, running his fingers along the amulets that criss-crossed his collarbone. “Did you ever manage it? And what would a bottle of me be like, I wonder?”

“I could begin my experiments again now that my specimen is returned.” He wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, welcoming the weight of his lover’s hold as an anchor to hold him to the earth. “If he were amenable.”

“I’m not sure what precisely I’m signing up for, but yes.” Dorian laughed as he brushed Rilienus’ lips with his own. “Anything and everything for you.”

The taste of him. The utter serenity of being in his arms, breathing him in. The softness of those lips. He turned against him as if by rote, weeks of practice burned into his muscle memory; climbing the straps of his armor with his fingertips to touch his skin and-

“See?” Sera chirped, “I told you that was no Blighted piss. You lads needed to help each other find your dangly bits?” 

Rilienus narrowed his eyes. 

“Anyway, like I was telling the horny one- guess there’s more than one of those here now, right? - there’s a crateload of swoopy baddies up ahead, and they have a couple Templars with them that look particularly shiny in a not-so-good way.” She crossed her arms, looking up at the Herald proudly. “No Nightingale, sorry, but it’s a heads up. And if that lot are around, she’s probably not far off. Worth a look and a bit of stabbing and poking.” She snorted, “‘Course someone’s already been stabbing and poking, eh?”

“Ah yes, should I take this as an invitation to give you  _ my _ reconnaissance in gruesome detail, then?” Dorian turned halfway from Rilienus, letting his hands slip lower wrapping around the curve of his ass, giving her a sly wink. “Let’s start with the poking, and then perhaps we’ll get to the stabbing.”

“Ugh, no!” Sera somehow gagged and laughed at the same time. “Gross. No, you can keep your staves to yourselves, thanks.”

He imagined his heels driving into the earth, churning up the dirt like a snake, swallowing rocks and roots. He swallowed the wanton groan that rolled in the base of his throat, then shut his eyes on the regret that stung when Dorian released him. Time. Precious, unpredictable time. But Dorian had asked for just that. Asked for time and then tempted him again and again. Not his fault that he had this effect, or that the scent of him was enough to send Rilienus through memories until he felt as insatiable as he had been at twenty. He exhaled carefully, tucking his hands to his back as he bowed his head. “The gross indecency being complete, perhaps we can move along?”

“As you will,” Dorian took his hand and squeezed it lightly after the others’ backs were turned. “She’s a menace,” Dorian mumbled, sighing deeply, “but she’s good enough at turning people into pincushions that it’s easiest to just play along. Bores easily.”

“I see. For future reference, I’m happy to play prop.” He cleared his throat. “Riding a horse after having done is rather less inviting as a prospect.”

“I’ll need to give you a massage after we’re done murdering random strangers. You must be dreadfully sore. First time in the saddle is always an experience.”

Rilienus sighed aloud at the thought. “I would welcome your touch, my love.” He squeezed his fingers. “First, murder strangers, then find your friend, then-“ He kissed Dorian’s cheek. “Home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say hi to [Oftachancer](https://oftachancer.tumblr.com/) and [Middy](https://midnightprelude.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you're so inclined!


End file.
